Vindication
by vvheel
Summary: Things would have been simpler if he had just apologized to her. Dean-centric. Dean/Emma.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

They were gladiators at curtain call, trudging down the narrow hallway of the venue towards the cafeteria. Their presence commanded respect and usually received awe. They were a three man faction, a group of rogue fighters, hounds that bit the hand of their arrogant master. It was easy to argue that all of them were just a tad bit unstable, but the crazy one was always Dean Ambrose. From the faces he made to the ramblings he voiced to thousands, he was the lunatic fringe. Speaking of fringe, he had a habit of repeatedly combing his fingers through his hair in impatience and was doing so at the moment while he waited in line for post-match dinner. He was sweating from head to toe and probably smelled like a dead rat, but damn it all, he was hungry.

He dropped his plate onto the table, taking a seat on the bench next to Seth Rollins as the two-toned man and their large friend Roman Reigns were paying particular attention to the raven-haired Diva speaking to them harshly. Dean promptly ignored her, focusing instead on the meat-packed sandwich in front of him. It's not like he could understand her with her freakish accident, anyways.

Seth raised his hands in defense. "It's not like we saw you there. It was a tactic we thought we could master and we didn't plan for you to be there." Always the diplomat. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You didn't plan for us to be walking down the hallway of our workplace?" Paige placed a hand on her hip, shifting her weight to her left leg. It was clear that she didn't plan on leaving without a proper apology. As nice as Seth was, in those respects she would probably be waiting forever.

"Look, I'll make sure we keep it on stage next time." Seth held out his hand in truce.

Though she wasn't quite satisfied, Paige took it. "You're just lucky Emma didn't get hurt. Her shoulder is very sensitive and she likes to keep stress on it to a minimum when not in the ring. Watch out next time, boys." She pointed at all of them, which Dean found rude, but he had no room to talk with how he was devouring his food.

As the raven-haired Diva strutted away, Dean took a moment to swallow and question the situation. "What did we do to her, exactly?"

Roman glared at him, speaking up for the first time. "You weren't watching where you were going in tonight's match and you nearly caused Barrett to collide with Paige and Emma."

Dean glared right back at him. "I've told you ten thousand freaking times that when I get in the zone..." he held out his hands, gesturing as he spoke, "...I have no acknowledgment for my surrounding area or the people within it."

"You need to work on that." Roman lectured him.

Dean pointed at him, defensively. "Hey, I've been getting better."

Seth was taking notes, something he liked to do when they fought. He explained once that it helped him psychologically balance the team, or some shit like that. Dean couldn't care less at the moment. He set the notebook aside and turned to Dean. "You really remember nothing?"

Dean shrugged. "It's like I go into a frenzy or whatever." He was done with the subject, but his teammate was clearly not.

"But you like, yelled at her."

This snapped him back to attention. "Wait, what?"

Roman piped in like the asshole he was. "You said to her 'watch where you're going, lady' and proceeded to punch Barrett before he could apologize for nearly crushing her."

"It's on RAW, dude. You're lucky she has that spacy personality, otherwise we'd have two severely pissed off Divas on our hands."

"I prefer female wrestler over Diva." Paige had returned while they were talking, now donning her black leather jacket. "And yes, Ambrose, thousands of people witnessed you nearly crush a young woman with the body of a large Englishman. Luckily I was there to pull her out of the way."

Any other human on the planet would probably feel awful, but Dean likes to ponder the idea that he was a sociopath. Well, psychopath, but that term can cost you your job. He shrugged again. "Thousands of people have seen me do a lot a terrible things, tickets are still selling and the world still spins."

Seth and Roman were immune to his personality by this point, but Paige looked like she wanted to punch him. What was he thinking, she would have loved to punch him. To his confusion, she suddenly grinned. "You're something else. However, that response makes me glad that I told her you would apologize to her."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You what?"

Paige brushed some of her hair away from her face. "I told her you would be the bigger man and make sure she was okay. To your credit she doesn't seem fazed, but she's expecting an apology anyways."

Dean blinked at her as she gave the silent group one last glance before leaving for her hotel room. Dean did his best not to let his temper flare, but the sheer arrogance of that woman infuriated him. He clenched and unclenched his hands. "If either of them are expecting anything from me, they have another thing coming."

Seth and Roman exchanged glances as they followed him back to the locker rooms. As Dean unlaced his wrestling footwear for a pair of cargo boots, Seth faced him. "So are you going to apologize or what?"

Dean had a temper. That much he knew very well. But if he managed to control it for that short burst of anger, he would grow to shrug off the whole thing. That's how he handled everything in his life and it worked in this situation, too. Not looking up, Dean replied, "Nope."

Seth knew not to push him on the matter. Sure he respected Paige and had spoken to Emma on a few occasions, but this wasn't his place to push the matter. Though if you asked Seth for his honest opinion, he would be siding with Paige. Dean Ambrose was a great wrestler, but sometimes he could be kind of a shitty person.

Without further challenge, the trio left for their hotel, only a walkable couple of blocks from the venue. This evening, they were in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. After a day's rest, they would be heading for New Orleans to tape Smackdown. It was the slow season, so their schedule wasn't as cluttered as usual.

Stretching his shoulders, Dean used his keycard to unlock his hotel room. The silence was pleasant after a long day of fans screaming in his ears. He took a shower, scrubbing his hair free of sweat and what looked like dirt, probably from when he took the fight with Barrett all the way outside the venue. Feeling much more content, he decided to neglect shaving for the evening and spent a good five minutes pondering how much he disliked the cleanliness of the hotel room before falling asleep.

He woke up exactly 7 hours later to the sound of his phone alarm. Groggily, he rubbed his eyes as he padded to the bathroom, where the phone lay discarded on top of his black pants. Picking it up, he considered himself lucky that he had heard the damn thing. He hated waking up early, but hated missing on his morning workout even more. Donning some training clothing, he headed out the door, leaving a considerable mess of clothing and towels for the maids. He figured they were getting paid anyways. He headed straight for the designated training area of the venue, jogging the whole way.

Once inside, slightly sweaty from the humid morning air, he stretched some more and prepared his arms for bench pressing. It was then that he heard the sound of a woman's laughter behind him. He looked for the source, spotting Paige in a makeshift ring with a blonde woman. He assumed it was Emma, because she was the only Diva that Paige frequently spent her time with, but he could be wrong. All those blonde bombshell Divas looked the same to him and he usually ignored them. This one was dressed in all gray except for a bright orange shirt and had her straight hair pulled back. She was bouncing back and forth on her feet, looking pleased despite the early hour. Dean chose to ignore them, avoiding Paige in particular.

He heard Paige's laughter again and glanced to see what exactly she found so funny. Paige was sitting in the corner near the turnbuckles, cross-legged and watching Emma as she...did something. Dean thought that that was her dance, but it looked like she was trying to swat flies while doing the robot. Because Dean never really watched NXT or the matches of other wrestlers unless it involved him somehow, he didn't know much about their fighting styles.

From what he could tell with Emma, she was just some stupid dance gimmick like Summer Rae and Fandangalo or whatever that dickwipe's name was. No wonder she always got partnered up with Santino. She was just some comedy wrestler and that made Dean even less interested in coming within talking distance of her. He watched her as she awkwardly scrambled onto the ring, pulling herself over the ropes. He didn't understand the appeal of looking like a fool to everyone, but decided that he honestly didn't care anymore. He wasn't going to apologize to her because that is not what he did. Besides, she didn't really seem fazed or else she would have demanded an apology herself. All the Divas were like that. Just yelling and demanding as if getting signed onto WWE made them stars. Getting signed was only half the battle and as a Superstar, Dean Ambrose could tell you it's only an uphill climb from there.

After an hour or so, Dean received a call from Seth asking if he wanted to get something to eat. Though he knew when it came to Dean and food, the answer was always yes. He hung up the cell phone and left the gym, hearing a few grunts and some yelling coming from the ring where Emma and Paige were probably sparring, but chose to focus on his cell phone messages instead of turning to look at them as he left the building.

The next evening, in a medium-sized venue in New Orleans, Dean Ambrose was stumbling down the concrete hallway towards the locker rooms, drenched in sweat and nauseated from getting punched in the stomach. He wiped some of the blood from a cut on his chin, hissing when it made contact with his sweaty hand. Luckily, he wouldn't need stitches. As fate or some shit like that would have it, his left leg gave out, causing him to stumble and lean against the wall. He slid down to the floor to take a break. As he opened his eyes, he saw a lone monitor in front of him, and on it was playing a match between two Divas. One was Alicia Fox, who after ten thousand tries, was still trying to get the Diva's championship. That Diva was absolutely insane, but Dean found it pretty impressive. She was currently standing on the top rope screaming and rambling while her opponent looked on. Judging from her facial features, the blonde woman she faced was Emma.

But this didn't look like the Emma he saw dancing and awkwardly clamoring around the ring yesterday. This Emma had her blue eyes focused on the ruthless Alicia Fox, who was preparing to jump off the top rope in some sort of desperate last attempt. As she jumped, Dean watched Emma rush forward and catch her mid-dive, suplexing her behind her, back bent like an acrobat. With a fierce stare, Emma grabbed Alicia in a submission move Dean hadn't seen a woman ever do, bending Alicia's joints in a way that made the other Diva cry out in pain. After a few seconds, Alicia still refused to tap out and Emma's face grew more angry and desperate. Dean remembered that feeling very well and it was eery to see it coming from a girl who he didn't think could even perform a suplex.

It struck him when she yelled out in her strong Austrailian accent, "Give up, Fox. Give up!" and she grunted, pulling Alicia's arms back further until, with a frustrated cry, the other woman tapped out. Emma kept a hold on her until the referee tapped her shoulder, snapping her back into focus as she let Alicia go.

The referee held up Emma's hand and she smiled with a far-away look in her eyes. She stomped her feet, grinning as she exited under the ropes. After hopping off the stage and skipping up the ramp, she faced the audience with a bright smile, breaking into that ridiculous dance of hers.

For the first time in a long time, Dean admitted to himself that he misjudged her. Sure, he was terrifying in the ring and resorted to mental tricks, but it was expected from him. He was the lunatic fringe who made faces and openly taunted his opponents. This was seemingly a spacy, bubbly woman, a female Santino, who performed like Dean would have in the ring.

As he watched Emma smirk at the screaming Alicia Fox, a simultaneously frightening and comical thing to see, Dean let out a breath. "Holy shit."

**None of Dean's stereotypical views on the Divas and Emma are in any way a reflection of my views on them, I promise! This is Chapter 1 out of 10 and I hope you thoroughly enjoyed the beginnings of this little story of mine. Keep in mind that I like to write as if wrestling was real in these. Also expect more Alicia Fox because I adore her.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**Yes, this story still works after Monday's events. Wrestling fanfiction is hard!**

Dean unwrapped the tape from his hands, feeling it peel off his sweaty wrists. He balled up the tape and was fixing to toss it in the trash when he was approached by a young woman with a mic. This wasn't Renee Young or anyone he'd seen before. He figured it was a new person, all too eager to approach him for a live interview on Raw. He rolled his eyes as her red lips formed the words of her question. It had been a long time since anyone had openly approached him for an interview. These days, he just didn't do them anymore.

The woman stared at him, a bit awkward at his silence, and repeated her question. God damn, woman. "Dean Ambrose, how do your Shield brethren feel about your loss tonight?"

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, where Barrett had hit a little too high with the chair. He could feel the bruise and figured it would be purple by tomorrow. "Look..." he gestured at her, having found it within him to actually care what her name was.

"Sarah."

"...Sarah. We haven't been The Shield in a long time. You know how the plot worked, you know the story. It's been almost a year. The Shield doesn't exist anymore." He felt a sudden mix of anger and anxiety within him and looked briefly into the lens of the camera. Before he could do something drastic, like grab her by the shoulders and tell her not to ask him stupid questions, he trudged away from both her and her camera man.

His heavy footsteps turned light as he began to practically jog out of the venue. He passed confused faces, only few he recognized, and only stopped when he reached the sidewalk outside the venue. He was supposed to stay, but he really didn't feel like it at the moment. Screw job courtesy, he wanted to be alone, away from all these people. Luckily for him, there was already a taxi parked nearby.

When he had reached his designated room for those two days, he leaned against the doorway, sliding until he was sitting on the floor. His legs were sprawled out in front of him and he clutched the front of his flak jacket, practically ripping it off of him. Rubbing his hair vigorously, he kicked off his boots, not seeing where they went in the dark, and stood up to look out the window.

He stared bitterly out the window, watching cars pass by on the busy street. A black taxi van stopped against the curb and unloaded a group of women, all dressed in WWE hoodies. Regular Joe passing by would have recognized them as Divas. The women were all laughing and exchanging smiles, despite the fact that some of them had had heated matches earlier. Really, when it was all said and done, Dean could admit to the empty hotel room that the women were less personal when it came to matches. He supposed it was because women had to stick together or some shit.

The telephone was almost startlingly loud as it ran on the dresser. Dean picked it up and, before he could say hello, Seth Rollin's voice practically yelled in his ear.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my hotel room."

"I just watched you storm out on Raw. You can't let things like that bother you."

Dean suddenly felt the need to grapple Seth. Just as he had for a very, very long time after Seth had smashed him and Roman Reigns to pieces to join Evolution. Sure it was all The Architect's elaborate plot to tear Evolution from the inside out, but you don't just drop those feelings of betrayal. For Dean, that hit too close to home. He kept grudges.

He had been silent for a long time, deep in his thoughts. Seth sighed, "Can you come back here?"

"I can, but I won't."

"Jesus Christ, Dean. It's been months. Get over it." Seth sounded exasperated, talking down to him like a fucking child.

"I told you before and I'll tell you again." Dean placed a palm on the wall, bracing himself so he didn't thrash around and tear the phone cord. "I will never forget what you did. Don't start, I don't care why you did it. I barely fucking forgave you." After a moment of silence, Dean felt the anger flush out of him, replaced by indifference. "I'll be right there."

He slammed down the phone, muttering as he reached for his wallet, pulling out some more cab money. Really it wasn't like he was strapped for cash, but he had barely been there ten minutes and they just now decided hey, we want Dean Ambrose fucking back. Jesus Christ.

He yanked back on his wrestling boots and grabbed the flack jacket, waiting to pull it back on. He purposely walked slowly to the lobby, taking the elevator instead of the usual stairs. Without warning, it stopped on the third floor, doors opening to reveal the last two Divas Dean cared to see at this moment.

Paige and Emma were both dressed in casual clothing, with Paige donning the black leather jacket she loved so much. If Paige noticed him at all in the elevator, she didn't show it. She kept on chattering excitedly with Emma about one of her brothers or something. Dean hadn't bothered listening.

Emma was nodding vigorously, he could see as much from the corner of his eye. It had been...more or less a few weeks since the incident and Paige hadn't bothered him again about apologizing. The floor hit the lobby and he let the two Divas walk ahead of him, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he walked.

To his dread, Paige suddenly slowed and turned to him, leaving Emma ahead of them. "Are you going back to the venue?"

He looked at her and nodded, not feeling up to speaking to anyone.

Like an opposing light to his brooding darkness, Emma turned to look at him over her shoulder, hair bouncing as she practically skipped down the carpeted hallway. "Come on, we'll share a cab." It was the first thing she'd ever said to him and her Australian accent was much softer (and nicer) when she wasn't yelling during a match.

He had such dumb luck. The two Divas had forced him into the middle, sitting between them as his long legs were awkwardly pushed up by the raised floor. He was pressed against the them much more than he felt comfortable and was very glad for the short cab ride.

Paige stared out the window silently, taking in the view. Emma, on his left, had been staring at the back of the seat before her blue eyes darted to him briefly. She smiled awkwardly when he glanced back at her. The cab stopped by the curb and Emma leaned into him just slightly, whispering as if she was telling him a secret. "It's okay to be mad, you don't have to pretend you're alright."

A weird sense of dread filled him and felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach. He felt like he was going to burst from the pressure. Before he could acknowledge what she'd just said to him, she opened the door with one push and exited the car, joining Paige as they entered the building.

He was still facing the door to the building as the cab pulled away, completely paid for by Paige. His hands felt heavy, down by his sides. He furrowed his brows, making sure his flak jacket was on straight (it had been a pain to put on in the cab) and shook his shoulders. Unlike his anger, he couldn't really shrug off this queasy feeling in his stomach. Entering the venue, he followed the signs to where the meeting room Seth had texted him to go to was. He pushed open the door, faced with two very exasperated ex-brethren. Behind him entered a fourth member to the party: Triple H himself dressed in a suit and tie, his balance placed on a cane in his left hand.

Dean took a sick satisfaction from the fact that he caused the leg injury that would permanently ban Triple H from the ring. Dude was old as fuck to be in there anyways. He didn't have any business squaring it off with the screaming lunatic that Dean was only a few months prior.

"You three..." the older man started, "are going to be filming a promo tonight. I want it done now, with you all battered and bruised." He turned to Dean. "And I don't want any profanity."

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling his hood over his head. "Wouldn't even think of it."

"Great." he was handed a camcorder by the assistant standing in the doorway. "As we discussed, there will be no mentioning of names. Despite what the fans want, you are all independent workers forming a faction."

It was Seth who liked to talk back when this rule was mentioned. "The three of us made The Shield. There's no denying that the fans are still going to call us that."

Triple H frowned, probably as bitter about the situation as they were. Before he left, he said to him: "Well your teammates think otherwise."

That managed to shut Seth up for the moment. Dean and Roman remained silent, not able to voice their agreements because with Triple H in the room they needed to play nice or they could all be fired. They were already on a very thin wire with him. Dean had permanently injured him, for Christ's sake.

Roman made some excuse to go get water or something, looking incredibly uncomfortable. While Dean was bitter, Roman was more sad than anything. Family meant a lot to him. And he was hard pressed to say that The Shield were a family. But they weren't his brothers now. Dean didn't have a family anymore and, if he could help it, never would.

He sighed in aggravation. Usually they were fine because they were all stubborn. They didn't talk about it and it made them all act like they were close again, considering each other as friends more than teammates. But when you brought up the worst year of Dean's life, (and that's saying something) things were bound to get tense as the illusion broke.

Grabbing the camcorder Triple H had set down, Dean rolled his shoulder, waiting for Roman's return. Seth, looking vexed by Triple H's words, glared at Dean. "I thought the matter was over. You really want to keep this thing going?"

"You're the one pushing for us all to be a team again when it's clear that Roman and I aren't interested."

Seth moved closer to him, getting in his face. He spoke in a harsh whisper. "I did it for the team. You think it ended with Plan B. Triple H has backup plans all the way to Z. I had to do this because I've always been what kept us together. Why can't you understand that?"

Dean grinned maniacally. He shook his head. "Maybe if you were paired up with John Cena and Daniel Bryan. Maybe if you were paired up with two pure-hearted guys like _you_ Seth, but you got paired with us. And you severely underestimated how many scars you would be giving us. Scars don't heal, you idiot."

Seth looked ready to shove him and start a fight when Roman entered the room again. "I'm sick of this happening every time someone off-handedly mentions what happened. Lets just be professionals and pretend to like each other." He set his cup of water down, off to the side. "Then we can all go our separate ways. Or pretend to be friends like we usually do."

Seth might have looked a little hurt, but Dean was glad for that suggestion. Frankly, he wouldn't mind ditching these two, but some uncontrollable force kept them all together despite the animosity. Perhaps it was because it made him more powerful to be in The Shield or some shit. He turned on the camcorder, turning the screen so that he could see himself. It was a promo for next week, so the empty footage could be edited out.

His voice broke the silence. With heavy breathing and snarling lips he promised revenge on Wade Barrett. "You ground my head into the dirt. You will pay for what you did. Do you think you can humiliate me for your adoring fans?" And blah blah blah he couldn't remember the rest even if he wanted to. It was usually a blur of smashed together sentences that usually caused a scene with him and someone. Roman stood behind him in the frame, staring intensely as he often did. Seth finished off the promo, promising that if you come for Dean, you come for all of them. Ain't that a load of shit. Dean tried not to be obvious about his distaste for Seth's talk of teamwork. When the camera was shut off, Seth called for a stage hand, who took it from them to the editors upstairs.

Dean spoke from the heart, truly he did, but he couldn't quite allow himself to give in to the temptations of considering them a full-fledged faction again. He shrugged it off. Not worth the effort to be mad over the whole situation.

Wordlessly, Seth offered a hand to him. Without hesitation, Dean took it and just like that everything was straight again. Safe, just like Dean liked it.

Instead of meeting up with Seth and Roman in the dining hall, Dean chose to stay behind. Today wasn't common, really it wasn't. Usually things were as if The Shield had never broke up. But there was always that animosity on the surface was was all too easily shattered and put all three men on edge. Talk about the elephant in the room.

He was headed towards the exit when, in the hallway near the arena, he spotted what looked like an annoyed Emma. He wasn't sure such a thing outside the ring existed, but here she was, sitting against the wall while watching the monitor. In her hands was a small bowl of what looked like chocolate ice cream. Really, where did she even get ice cream?

He suddenly felt like either being near another pissed off person or joining them just to annoy them more. Either way, he sat down by Emma, giving her well enough space from him. She had been frowning at the screen, but when he approached, she plastered on a smile.

"Cool it, sweetheart. I liked it better when you were pissed off." Her brows scrunched in confusion at him, but she continued eating ice cream, eyes focused back on to the screen. Dean had his legs bent up slightly, his fingers tapping on his knees. He felt a little conflicted, sure that she was expecting an apology, even a few weeks later. Instead of one, she got: "You looked much happier earlier than you do now." Not that he cared. Not really. But anything to avoid having to apologize to her.

She looked at him for a moment before hesitantly speaking. "I have to do another tag team with Santino."

"Thought you liked Santino."

She blinked at him. "No, he's my friend! I just..." she looked back to the screen. "I'd really like to get my hands on Alicia Fox." And the bubbly part of her was gone, replaced by a sadistic grin. Dean's heart sped up a little.

"Didn't think revenge was your style."

She set her bowl aside, noticeably sick of ice cream. "I'm not trying to get revenge on her." The blonde woman stretched out her legs, long for her frame but short compared to his. "I'm trying to help her."

Now Dean was actually interested. "By getting your hands on her?"

She suddenly turned to him. Had she been closer, he would've flinched. Sudden movements put him on defense mode. "Ring psychology is a very powerful thing. Watch." And despite his annoyance at her order, he glanced to the monitor, watching Backstage Pass run a re-run of Alicia Fox's earlier match against Nikki Bella. "You can learn everything you need to know about someone by seeing them with adrenaline coursing through their veins. No matter how hard they try, you're exposed in the ring."

Not believing that he was actually buying into this crap, he questioned her. "How exactly are you going to help her?"

Emma smiled at him. "You have to pay close attention to her movements. Erratic, unfocused."

He watched as Alicia Fox stomped on the Bella twin, unleashing an ear-piercing shriek. "So she's bat-shit crazy. I'm still not following you." He felt a little weird cursing in front of her. He remembered his mother screaming at him that men don't curse in front of women. But that didn't matter now. That woman didn't matter now.

Emma shrugged, seeming to give up on explaining it to him. He felt a little vexed. He wasn't an idiot, he just needed extra explanation. Before he could pry her for more information as to what made her such a psychological genius, she interrupted him. "Do you want to go running?"

He stared. "Running?" She smiled, making a running motion. He waved her off. "I know what fucking running is. It's almost midnight."

She stretched her arms. "You don't run at night?"

"I sleep at night." Jesus what the hell.

"Well alright then." She didn't seem disappointed. "I'll just jog to the hotel myself. I don't feel like riding in a car."

Yes, Emma was, as he found out recently, a very capable wrestler and in great (incredible) shape, but she was still a small woman going for a jog by herself at night. Something nagged in the back of his mind. He rubbed his neck to get rid of it and in a blink she was off, jogging down the hall.

God fucking damnit.

He caught up to her quickly. She gave him a funny look and he just shrugged. "I can't let you go by yourself."

Laughing, Emma replied, "I know you can't. Ring psychology. Now you're getting it."

He wasn't. He really wasn't but he didn't have time to be offended by her playing him because she sped up. His legs were longer, so he put less effort into catching up to her than she put into running away from him. It made him feel like some sort of creep, but the streets were mostly empty by this point. After 10 minutes or so, she finally slowed, allowing him to rest. Sure you could say he was in great shape, but he never really ran this much. He didn't need to; he naturally had a high metabolism and great cardio. It'd been a long time since he'd run this long and it was starting to show. Man, he was getting fucking old or something. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulder, feeling exhaustion start to consume him.

"Usually I'm passed out asleep by now."

"Really, I would think you're the type to party all night."

"That's how things used to be. I wouldn't think you'd be so bold." Dean replied, finally attempting to put her interest in talking to him up in the air.

"I told Summer Rae she was being a bitch once. If that's not bold, I don't know what is. That girl could scratch my eyes out. Oh hey," she stopped a ways down the sidewalk from the hotel room. "we should sprint. It would exhaust us." Dean shrugged, already exhausted. He stood up straight as Emma comically posed to run. On the count of three they both sprinted down the sidewalk.

Now, this was a new feeling. Training and working out was all about pacing yourself. Sprinting was about pushing it, pushing it as far as you could. It'd been a long time since Dean had run like this. The sudden jolt of him stopping in front of the hotel almost made him dizzy. He waited for Emma to catch up, trying to catch his breath. He found that he was sweating under his flak jacket. His feet ached and his hands were trembling, but he was in perfect shape. So he was really fucking lost at the moment. He looked to Emma, who was clutching her stomach and smiling brightly.

"You know how screaming gets all the frustration out?"

"Yeah?"

"I find that sprinting like that works much better. I bet you feel better now."

He did, actually, but he chose not to respond. It felt like walking on eggshells, mostly because he hadn't exactly been clear to her that he was pissed off. He didn't want to talk about Seth or his feelings or whatever.

And, surprisingly, he felt legitimately okay at the moment.

He had a confused expression on his face, unsure how to react to such a foreign feeling. This wasn't stuffing his feelings down or shrugging them off, this was letting them go. He wouldn't admit it to Emma, mostly because it was her idea and she'd forced him into it, but he would have to try that again. He would go faster next time.

"All things aside, thank you for being my running partner." She held up her hand to high-five him.

Cringing a bit over the term "partner" after the day's events, Dean instinctively held up his hand. Instead of high-fiving him, she flattened her hand like she did in her dance and poked his palm with the ends of her fingers. "Uhh..." he really didn't know how to respond to that.

She was a bit closer now and grinned at him, giggling. "You think too much." Nobody giggles at Dean Ambrose, this was one weird situation he was caught up in. He felt strange. A mixture of anxiety and comfort at the same time. Maybe it was the comfort that was making him anxious. Her grin turned into a sad smile, one that you would use on someone you felt bad for. He didn't need her pity. "It gets easier if you let it." Then she broke eye contact with him, pushing open the door to the hotel lobby.

He decided he would stand outside for a little bit longer. He was uncomfortable with being near someone who could psychoanalyze so easily. His discomfort was only slightly overshadowed by the need to meet back up with her and talk about ring psychology more. He was sure the subject made him interested and he needed her to tell him more about it in between her smiles. In between her _smiles._ Yeah. Dean leaned his head against the brick wall of the hotel building. That's the part that worried him.

He probably should have just fucking apologized to her.

**Though not previously planned, I guess I've found the "angst" factor in this story. Dean's mistrust of Seth for "betraying" them and permanently disbanding The Shield. No longer does Dean have brothers. Through the pain, I will make sure I get this fic done! Demma shall prosper.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

"Dean, get your knees off the glove compartment, this rental was fucking expensive." He was pulled out of this thoughts by Dolph Ziggler. He regretted asking the bleached blonde for a ride to the house show the moment he was inside his car.

Dean narrowed his eyes, sneering at him. "It's not like I can move my legs at all."

From behind him came Summer Rae's retort. "Hey, you're not the only one with long legs here. I need some room."

"Would you two stop bitching?" came the deep growl next to her. It was the Big Show, taking up almost two seats and crouched in a near fetal position to keep from hurting his neck. Dean had been glad for his mental retreat during the 15 minute silence.

Dolph flashed a bright smile and adjusted his sunglasses. "Glad we're all getting along beautifully." He cranked up the music, a pop station blaring beach music that was local to Miami, Florida. Inappropriate for the chilly October, but what else could you expect. Dean found himself missing Ohio, where people changed along with the seasons and you could tell what month it was by walking outside. Dreadful fucking state. Dolph skidded to a stop, making Dean clutch to the assist grip above the window. "We're here, ladies."

Dean entered ahead of the group, very underdressed for the weather. He'd been colder. He'd donned his usual black uniform and flak jacket while everyone else was bundled in scarves and coats. He passed through the heavily secured walkways into the break room, where he was faced with a large group of wrestlers. It looked like they had run out of chairs not used for the audience and most people were standing. He grabbed a styrofoam cup filled with coffee and drank it black. He didn't like to eat before a match, a habit back from when he was in the small-leagues. He swallowed the coffee and cringed a bit at the taste.

A stage manager entered through the door, followed by two assistants and a cameraman. "Alright everyone, match one is on in ten. Get ready." Dean watched two new wrestlers stretch out their arms without glancing at each other. Likely they were the first contenders. He thought of the ring psychology that Emma had mentioned the last time he saw her the other week (or was it a couple of weeks ago?) and wondered if it worked outside the ring as well. One of the wrestlers was in green and already visibly sweating, while the other was dressed in black and looked calmer.

"You should watch their match." He hadn't seen Emma appear next to him. She seemed to be in the middle of grabbing a water bottle, wrapped up in a coat over casual clothing. She was facing the opposite direction of him, towards the wall, so that nobody saw her speak expect for him. "You'll be surprised."

He gave her a look of disbelief. "I think I've already got this one figured out."

Emma smiled briefly before turning away. "Sneak out. You'll see." She headed towards the door, cleared for audience participation because she wasn't scheduled that day. Dean rolled his eyes. He would just ignore her and get ready for his own match. He hadn't even stretched yet. He heard the audience begin to cheer and the sound of a local announcer calling out the names of the two new wrestlers. The first one entered through the main stage area, greeted by booing. The second one soon followed.

It took Dean a record twelve seconds to resist Emma's challenge. By the time the second wrestler entered the stage, Dean was sneaking out the door Emma had gone through. The worst they'd do is escort him back to the break room. The room was so dark that, with his hood on, he was able to pass unnoticed by the fans that would easily pounce hm. He looked for Emma with great difficulty. She was so damn short. The wrestlers were circling by the time he'd found her and met up with her. She grinned at him, looking a little surprised. She scooted closer to whisper. "Look."

He did, not seeing anything special. The one in green was still sweating and the one in black was glaring daggers as he grabbed him by the hair. "Green is scared shitless. Black is going to take him down."

"Some people sweat more than others. That's all biological. Look at his hands." He looked at her for a moment before following her gaze. The guy in green's hands were by his sides as he faced the tough guy in black, whose hands were trembling. He saw the look on black's face, like a scared animal snarling at a bigger opponent. When the one in green was thrown across the ring, Dean could see his face more clearly. He looked way more predator than prey. The match was over in a matter of minutes as the one in green surprised the one in black and quickly pinned him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Emma's palms were placed on his bare arm as she nudged him to get back to the break room. He gave her another weird look and she smiled brightly at him, mouthing "Told you so." before waving him off with her hands.

He pushed open the door just as Paige was exiting. She, too, was dressed casually. Before he could shoulder past her, she looked up at him, face neutral. "Where's Emma?"

He might have paused a moment too long, because, before he could deny knowing who this Emma was, her face broke into a smirk and she nodded past him. "Back there, huh? Thanks." And she did the shouldering, heading into the cheering crowd.

Pfft. He frowned bitterly, finding an empty seat and drinking another cup of coffee.

"You look like shit." He looked up to see Roman and Seth practically standing over him.

"Shut the hell up."

"You bothered his brooding time." Dolph chuckled from across the room.

"Seriously man, what's got you on edge?" Seth diplomatically turned the conversation serious. Dean didn't like feeling like everyone knew he was in a bad mood or something. He was fucking fine. Just a little...he didn't know. He just wanted to think in silence, okay? He couldn't tell you what was bothering him even if he tried. He absent-mindedly crossed his arms, running his fingers over the spot Emma's cold hands had pushed him. He could still feel the pressure, like she wasn't afraid to shove him, but wanted to be nice.

"I'm fantastic."

"Great." Roman interrupted before Seth could pry. "Now let's get ready. We're tag-teaming against the Usos."

"Jesus Christ, I hate these house shows, sometimes." Dean ran his hand through his messy hair.

The match went off without a hitch, for the most part. Dean received a pretty cut on his lip from Jay's high-flying kick to his face, but nothing else interesting happened. He would have to be on the verge of death to admit such a thing, but he bitterly knew that it was because he was looking for Emma in the audience. With all the lighting, you couldn't see anyone for shit. He wasn't looking for any particular reason, he just was curious to see if she was watching him in that focused way that she watched the wrestlers in the first match.

Refusing first aid, as always, he was in a washroom shoving a wet paper towel on his bleeding lip when the young wrestler in black entered, washing his sweaty hands. He splashed some water on his face. Dean managed to slur out through the paper towel on his lip: "I saw you out there kid, you've got to work on that fear. Your flinch is what made you lose."

If it were him, he'd say fuck off because that's the kind of young wrestler he was, but this kid looked like he was talking to the president or something. He nodded vigorously. "Yes, sir."

"Ew, don't call me sir." He shook his head at him. "Ugh just Dean's fine or whatever." He pretended not to notice the smile on the kid's face as he left the washroom. A woman in purple and black rounded the corner, heading past him. Of course it was fucking Paige. He must have walked under a ladder before a TLC match or some shit because this woman was everywhere. She gave him that knowing smirk again and he glared at her. "Dude, what?"

"Emma's in the break room."

"Okay that's nice?"

She shook her head at him. "You think you're so hard to figure out. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Now fully in defense mode, he turned to her. "Ashamed of what, exactly?"

She gave him a confused look. "Your interest. It's not like it's wrong or something."

"What exactly are you implying? Because if you think for one second I feel that way about-"

She cut him off, her hands raised. "Ring psychology is not that weird. Goodness, I didn't think you were so old-school. Strange." She shook her head, looking at him like he was some kind of weirdo. She turned away, calling out after her before leaving to her rental car with a few other Divas. "She's completely willing to teach you how she does it. Gave me a run for my money. Good luck, Ambrose."

He stood there frustrated. That had not been going where he thought it was going and suddenly he really didn't want to think about where his mind was heading. He was going to just head back to the hotel, but he had come here with Dolph Ziggler, who was still cackling away in the break room. Guy was way too relaxed for a professional wrestler.

The break room was empty save for Emma and a few others. Dolph was chatting away on his cell phone in the corner, a water bottle in his hand. He laughed loudly. Emma was standing obnoxiously close to the monitor as it ran through re-plays of the house show. Her arms were crossed and her coat was not draped across a chair. He stood by her for a long time in the silence. He could feel Dolph's eyes on him at times, but figured it wasn't a good idea to break the guy's face. He was generally an okay guy as long as he didn't get all excited about something. He had defended The Shield against Seth Rollins back when...well, when The Shield was still somewhat of a thing.

"He's too loud." Emma spoke softly, squinting at the monitor.

"Why's this match so important to you? You're never going to go against either of them."

She turned to him. "Is that why you think ring psychology is important?" Before he could answer, she continued. "I have an idea. If you want to, I can teach you it. Here," she pulled out a pen from her pocket and grabbed his very hesitant hand, scribbling a phone number down on the inside of his wrist in pretty lettering.

"You know, I could have just programmed this into my phone." He studied his wrist.

She smiled and nodded towards Ziggler, who was obviously watching the whole exchange. "He's waiting on you. If you ever find an opponent that you think you can't beat physically, give me a call."

He gave her a nod. "Alright." The whole situation was futile. He'd beaten giants using physical willpower alone, there was no need for ring psychology. Interesting as it was, he'd never find a use for it. He was just humoring her, was all. Though Dean had honestly never humored anyone in his entire life. Dolph waited for him at the door, giving him a knowing glance that Dean immediately knew was laced with venom. He smirked the whole way to the car. Before he opened the front door, he looked at Dean across the hood.

"So, Emma?"

"No." He narrowed his eyes. They were absolutely not going to do this.

"Well if you're going to act like that maybe I'll copy that pretty little number off your wrist." At Dean's continued glare, he laughed. "Relax, I like my ladies a little more ferocious than Emma." He only laughed harder once he was in his seat and Summer Rae kicked it from behind him. He gave her an admiring look in the rear-view mirror.

Big Show groaned in annoyance and Dean stared silently, now even more squished up against the glove compartment. He rolled down the window (much to Summer Rae's annoyance) and stuck his arm out it, feeling the wind pass over his open palm. It was a calming feeling and it helped him think. Usually he was the one to drive and that activity was definitely not something that relaxed him. If he crashed anymore cars he was sure that The Authority would start demanding re-payment for the rentals.

It was a week later and he was in Charlotte, North Carolina in a match against a guy just signed to the WWE, but definitely not new to wrestling. It was Smackdown and the guy was going against Superstar Dean Ambrose, so it was clear Triple H had some major plans for him and wanted as big of a push as possible. For having never faced him before, the guy was doing incredibly.

Dean had just been crushing him and catching every single one of his high jumps when, seemingly out of nowhere, he'd flipped himself out of Dean's hold and threw him to the ground, causing him a nasty bang on the back of the neck. Too dazed to get up, the man had pinned him. It was a long, but uneventful match save for the ending. A typical Friday night Smackdown. Still on his back, he watched the guy stand victoriously, a look of shock on his face at having actually won something. His music began to play as the ref raised his arm.

Dean didn't understand. This guy had looked like a piece of cake and he almost felt bad that his Smackdown debut was going to result in a heavy loss. Upon closer inspection, he found that the guy looked familiar, but Dean couldn't place him. He managed to slip off stage and back to the exit while the mixed crowd focused on the young man as the announcers praised him.

He passed by Triple H and Stephanie McMahon as they were being interviewed by Renee Young. "We have some great things in store for Naveen." Triple H's eyes briefly darted to Dean. "He's a lunatic killer." Renee looked a little concerned at his use of words and he just laughed it off.

Dean trudged by them wordlessly. So that's how it was going to be. Fair enough. The Authority had been trying to take him down for years without success. He wasn't as predictable as they assumed he was.

He must have been wrong.

As Dean received another hellish kick in the face, he thought again that maybe he had been underestimating this Naveen kid. He was young, in his early twenties, and had dark skin, a native of India. He still looked familiar to Dean, but he never took the time to care. All he could really remember was how he stared at him with cold, black eyes before landing a punch. It was as if he could predict his every move.

For the third time, Dean was flat on his back and pinned down by the other man. He stood above him, arms raised as the crowd chanted loudly. There were some drowned out boos. He heard Michael Cole's pleased voice. "Tonight's Raw ending in another loss for the once-Shield's lunatic fringe against the newcomer Naveen, who had personally named himself the lunatic killer."

JBL pitched in. "I tell you, Michael, it takes a lot of guts to spit on the career of Dean Ambrose like this young man has and I'm with him. I think it's great that someone is finally saying that a career based on insane behavior is pathetic."

Jerry Lawler finished off with: "I can't tell who's the heel in this situation, guys. It looks like both of these men are dead set in tearing apart the mindsets of the other. I think this is going to be a feud worth seeing next week. Goodnight everybody!"

The live broadcasting was off, but the crowd and the cameras remained as Dean struggled to pull himself up. In the end, he was reduced to limping like a hurt dog up the ramp. Renee Young passed by him, knowing better than to interview him when he was in such a shitty mood. He headed straight for the locker room, clutching his bruised ribs. With great pain, he managed to change into a pair of jeans and more comfortable boots. He carried his stuff in a duffle bag along with his shirt, unable to change out of the flak jacket with his bruised ribs.

He clutched the steering wheel of his rental angrily, trying to focus on not crashing. After parking in the parking lot, he headed for the lobby. In the elevator, he tapped the wall impatiently. This was going to keep him up all fucking night. There was no way this guy could see right through him and fuck with him as if he was some punk kid. There was absolutely no way and Dean was doing the best he could not to break something. He looked at his watch. It was still late in the evening, but not terribly late. With an audible groan, he grabbed his cell phone from the duffle bag and sorted through his contacts. He hoped that he had copied down her number correctly.

She answered after two rings. "Hello?"

"It's me...uh, it's Dean. I need to uh...talk to you."

She paused for a moment. "Do you feel like losing sleep tonight?"

He was taken back by her odd question. "I won't be sleeping after that match, anyways."

He could hear her smile as she told him her room number. He had to wait some extra time with the slow elevator, but he was in far too much pain to climb any stairs. When he was at her door, he knocked lightly, still feeling far too loud. She opened it immediately and beckoned him inside.

Her hotel room was very clean, as if she did the cleaning herself constantly. Her laptop was hooked up to the TV screen and the bed was still made. As he studied her room, she studied him. "You don't look so good. Why are you wearing your flak jacket with jeans?"

"Uh, I couldn't get out of it with my ribs. I think they're bruised or something."

"You sure they're not broken? Have you seen a medic?"

He was a bit uncomfortable being in her room alone, but her fretting over him like that made it worse. "I've had broken ribs before."

"Do you need help?"

"What?" he replied, a little too defensively.

"With your shirt. That can't be comfortable."

He sighed, unable to relax in this situation but he figured the tight clothing against his ribs wasn't helping. "Yeah, okay." He ran his fingers through his hair. He sat down on the couch and she approached him tentatively, looking just as uncomfortable as he was. Professional. It was all professional. One wrestler helping another.

He was able to unzip the flak jacket and she pushed it off his shoulders, as any sort of shrugging caused him to cringe. It was the hoodie underneath that was the problem. He gripped the bottom, pulling it halfway up his stomach before grunting in pain. She laughed. "I can't help if you do it all yourself. Here."

She moved her hands to his sides and pulled the hood up, giggling when it nearly got stuck on his head. She helped him pull his arms out of the cut-off sleeves and he was glad for it to finally be off because the pain was getting intense. Or maybe that was a mix of physical pain and painfully awkward. "Can you..." he took a moment to breath through the pain. "can you get my shirt out of my bag?" He motioned towards the duffle bag against the wall and she complied, helping him get his arms through the sleeves. He left it unbuttoned as he inspected the purple area on his side. "Ugh."

"Looks bad. You sure they're not broken?"

"Yeah, pretty sure."

"Alright. Well here." She grabbed an ice pack from the hotel room's fridge. "I like to keep these on me." She wrapped it in a hand towel and gave it to him. He flinched, but it felt nice against his burning and bruised skin. "So..." she sat down on the couch next to him. "What's the occasion?"

He bitterly looked to the monitor. It looked like she had a re-play of the evening's Smackdown going. "This Indian kid is going to get the best of me and nothing I can do phases him." He wasn't going to directly ask for help. Just like (even after months) he still wasn't going to apologize for the incident. Thankfully, she never mentioned it. "I need to get him." That's the closest she was going to get to a cry for help and he hoped it was enough.

She smiled brightly. "Step one: watch everything he's ever done. Absolutely everything."

"Everything? I don't watch other people's matches."

She laughed. "That's your problem."

"My problem is that this guy can predict me."

"Probably because he's watched all of your matches."

"Look, I'm not a predictable guy-"

She cut him off, pointing at the screen. "Everyone is predictable in the ring."

Dean wasn't sure how to take this. There were only two people in the world willing to openly argue with him in conversation and one of them was Roman Reigns, who liked to butt heads and raised his voice. Their arguments were ugly, but in the end they respected each other more. The only other person in the world was this woman nearly a foot shorter than him. Instead of barking at him, she would simply cut him off and smile while she corrected him. It made Dean feel like a child, but not in the usual way that made him angry. He'd dare to say it made him obey her the more because he was not used to such treatment. Such...motherly treatment. He cringed.

"So you're saying I need to get a complete psychological grasp to beat this guy?"

"Yes. If you want to beat him, it will take more than your fists. What good is punching if he already knows where it's coming from?"

"I'm not sure if this is going to do shit."

"Well," she looked to the ground, then back to him. Her eyes were very blue. "at least you can say you tried."

That was true. At least he could argue to himself that he tried the psychology crap she was giving him and if it did nothing, that was something out of the way. Naveen only had three matches on him, but three matches could ruin a guy's reputation easily. Dean couldn't afford that. He was reaching 30 and at the peak of his career. Any bump could cause him to plunge to the bottom. He was growing desperate, he bitterly knew that.

"Alright, I'll try it."

"Good, because I know how to beat him."

He blinked. "You do?"

"Yes, but I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to help you figure it out."

Though he wanted to protest, he couldn't argue with the idea that she wanted him to work for his victory. In fact, he respected it. After a moment, he wondered something. "Wait, what do you get in return?"

"Hmm..." he looked genuinely stumped for something. "Well..." she looked at him shyly. "Paige is going to do media in England for a few weeks and I need a running partner."

"Deal." he held out his hand immediately, surprising her. Really, he jogged anyway and she was basically promising him a career-saving win in exchange for a 30 minute jog with her. That was practically giving her side of the bargain away.

She smiled and held out her hand. He took it, shaking it. "Okay, deal."

He yawned, regretting the past week as soon as the exhaustion began to hit him. He'd spent nearly every night watching videos on various websites of this Naveen guy. From fuzzy home videos of him fighting on a street in India to his indie days in a ring in England barely 5 years ago. The kid was a natural and showed amazing talent. Emma had him writing notes on every facial expression he made, every surprising twist he pulled, and every word he spoke.

Emma leaned over the counter, her tea forgotten as she studied his notes in his messy handwriting. "Oh I remember this, yes, you're right."

He blinked at her, a water bottle in his right hand, his face propped up by his left. "Hmm?"

She looked up at him with that concerned expression that liked to bother him. "You know, you don't have to stay up with me and watch the videos. You could always do them on your own time and meet up with me later." She shook her phone for emphasis.

"You and I both know I won't do it unless someone else is there forcing me to. I was never an A student." He'd made a joke once about how this whole thing was his "homework" and she'd laughed so hard that it continued to be a bit of a running gag between them.

He knew that he was growing weirdly comfortable around her, but he really was grateful for her help. Despite the fact that he didn't show it, he knew that learning about Naveen was going to improve his matches. He was scheduled for another Raw match against him tomorrow and for the first time he looked forward to it.

"Don't get your hopes up." She had warned him. "You're only beginning."

"Yes, sensei." He had dryly replied, causing her to poorly hold back her laughter.

Now here they were, in some diner they'd been jogging past when Emma suddenly craved an iced tea. She'd barely touched it as she poured over his notes. She closed the messy red notebook before handing it back to him with a smile. "You're really starting to get it."

"I hope." He groaned. "I honestly am not sure what the hell I'm doing."

She quickly payed for her barely-touched iced tea and they left the diner, exposed again to the hot Atlanta sun. She broke into a jog first, him catching up to her. They were headed back towards the hotel, where they would go their separate ways to meet up with their trainers and gym partners. She didn't make him sprint this time, which was nice, though he was starting to find it a great way of letting loose. She told him she preferred sprinting like that at night or early in the morning, when it was cooler and he wasn't about to get up at 5am to go running.

The hotel wasn't far off, but they were both sweating heavily by the time they reached it. She held the door open for him and he entered first, breathing in the cool air. The lobby staff paid no attention to them as they headed for the hotel's large, luxurious gym. She turned to him before they went through the doors. "Okay, good luck tomorrow. I'll be watching."

"Uh...thanks." and with a smile she entered the gym, making a beeline for some of the other Divas who were already in a makeshift ring.

He met up with Roman Reigns, who'd just returned from a trip to see his daughter. He looked more relaxed than when he left. Roman had just finished bench pressing and was drinking from a water bottle when Dean approached. He gave a quizzical look, which Dean only replied. "Later, man." He'd hoped that Roman would forget he'd saw Dean and Emma enter together, but his hopes were shattered when, later that night in the venue's dining area, Roman gave him a hard stare over his plate of food.

"You hate jogging with other people."

Dean set his fork down, sighing. "Look, I owe her for something, okay? Does it really matter?"

Roman wasn't going to let him brush the whole thing off. Asshole. "Yes. You and I are best friends. Best friends don't keep secrets." His eyes briefly darted to Seth, who was still getting food.

Despite the weird feeling in his stomach when his friendship with Roman was brought up, he swallowed the feeling down and fought the urge to smile. "Okay, girl scout." Roman rolled his eyes. "She's teaching me ring psychology. It's really not a big deal, she's just really good at it and she only wants a jogging partner in return."

Roman smiled at him. "That's all you had to say man. I won't pry anymore."

Dean sighed, relaxing. "Thanks."

Seth joined them, tossing down his strategic booklet on the table. "Oh man, Sami Zayn is going to regret messing with me."

Dean blinked at him. "The red-haired dude?"

Seth looked at him in confusion. "Yeah the one I've been feuding with for like two weeks?"

Dean stared at the food on his plate, rubbing his eyes. "Sorry, man. I've just been really busy."

"No need to explain, you don't watch matches that don't affect your personal interests." Though a casual statement, it sounded quite close to an insult. He seemed bitter about something and was taking it out on Dean. All three men stayed silent for a moment as the illusion was nearly shattered once again.

Despite himself, Dean looked across the cafeteria at the other wrestlers. It looked like everyone liked to stay within their own factions and stables, except for the women. Feuds aside, the women all stuck together. Strange, but the more Emma told him bits and pieces of how hard it was to be a Diva, the more he got it. He was beginning to see some of them in a new light, though others he would always remain skeptical about. His eyes landed on Emma, who was quietly listening to the chattering of her excited friend. (Belinda? Bayley?) She nodded in agreement with her friend and suddenly, her blue eyes were on his.

As soon as their eyes met, he looked down, inspecting the questionable meat on his plate. Eh, it still tasted like meat. He wasn't going to bring up the fact that the other two men were focusing on him right now. Roman looked a bit concerned and Seth looked downright confused, eyes darting to the Diva's table.

But Seth was too busy with his plans to beat Sami Zayn, who'd started a fire in the WWE that was probably never going out and Roman had already said he wouldn't pry. Dean gripped the fork a little too hard, bending it slightly, and set it down.

He didn't really feel like eating and needed to watch a few more matches before getting a good night's sleep. He bid the two men goodbye and left the table. As he threw his food away, he passed by the Diva's table, largely ignored except for Emma's brief smile towards him, before she quickly focused back on the other girl's conversation. He would have to meet up with her tomorrow, because this evening he was absolutely exhausted.

He rounded the corner, his phone in his hands when it beeped. Opening up his messages, he saw a text from Emma with a link.

_Pay special attention to this one. Get a good night's sleep!_

He felt a little odd, because she was eating and with her friends, yet she still went out of her way to send him another link she'd researched. She should be relaxing herself, it's not like he was paying her. As he entered his rental and started the engine, he sat for a moment and thought about how some people didn't need to be payed to want to help out. Those people were usually friends. Would he consider Emma a friend? He hadn't thought about it. He liked to skip the friend stage. Whether it meant they were immediately his brother or enemy or somebody to fuck or buy his liquor didn't matter, he just never kept people in the friend stage.

He opened the link, watching the video while the radio crackled some classical music that came on late at night. Naveen actually lost in this match and, squinting, Dean noticed something he hadn't noticed before while simultaneously realizing why Naveen was familiar. He knew how to beat him. He actually knew how to beat him.

Great, he thought, switching gears and diving down the street. He would not have to apologize to _and_ thank Emma. For some reason, he felt up to the task of doing both. He yawned. After the match, of course.

**I hope everyone is liking it so far! Oh man, cute wrestlers already acting like a married couple, so sweet. Please review and tell me what you think! I love feedback and want to make sure I'm clear to everyone. xx**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

He was standing in front of a mirror, fists up at chest-level. They were loosely closed, thumbs out as he swung once, jabbed left, repeat repeat. His own look of determination helped motivate him. Roman was standing off to the side, watching him like he always did.

"Not that I'm trying to ruin your groove, Ambrose, but where did this confidence come from?"

Dean tried not to acknowledge how defensive he suddenly got. "Nowhere. I'm going to beat the crap out of this Indian kid."

Roman laughed in that way he liked to when Dean was acting crazier than usual. Fuckhead. "You're something else."

A stage manager, dressed in all black, opened the door to the training room. "On in ten, boys."

Dean rolled his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet a few times. He pulled his right arm across his chest, stretching it. Dean knew it would hurt later. Dean wanted it to hurt later. Any pain he would feel, Naveen would feel tenfold.

Seth met up with them wordlessly. He was dressed in tactical gear, as he had a fight later on, but would enter from the front instead the back like Dean and Roman. He always said he was there to support, but Dean didn't know why. He made it clear that he didn't need Seth's support. As to why he was still here...Dean didn't know and didn't care enough to find out. They trudged down the hallway, Dean in front, the illusion of a three-man squad like the old days. At the entrance to the back stage, Seth patted Dean's shoulder.

"Good luck out there."

Dean wanted to be bitter, but his eyes were focused on the doorway. On Naveen waiting on the other side. "Yeah."

Roman and Seth exchanged a look as a stagehand opened the door just as Dean's music began playing. It was your generic mix of metal and punk, a homage to Dean's old music when he started in FCW. The Shield's theme had long since been discarded. He brushed off every pat and attempted high-five as he made his way down the stairs, the crowd roaring in his ears.

He leapt over the guard railing, making faces at Naveen, who was scowling from the middle of the ring. Roman was banned from ringside, so he stayed in the back with Seth as they watched Dean's fight on a monitor. He ducked through the ropes and stood face-to-face with Naveen. He couldn't help the smirk on his face as the announcer and referee stood together in the corner of the stage. Dean continued to stare straight into Naveen's dark eyes as the announcement was made.

"Survivor Series match number four is scheduled for one-fall between Dean Ambrose and Naveen." The crowd had been roaring and cheering the entire time, Dean wasn't sure for who anymore.

The announcer left and within a few seconds, the bell was rung. Dean and Naveen immediately lunged for each other, grappling in the middle of the ring. With a large bout of strength, Naveen managed to slam Dean into the mat on his side, pulling his arms back for a hold. Dean growled out as Naveen taunted him. "You think like a rabid dog, ready to tear things apart. But you are truly just a scared mutt."

Dean kicked him, breaking the attempted hold and ran back, hitting his back with the ropes and clotheslined Naveen, making his back slam hard into the ground. Some audience members in the front rows cringed in empathy. Dean shrugged his shoulders, breathing in to keep calm, and continued smiling. He turned to Naveen, who was scrambling back onto his feet.

"That the best you got, _Lunatic Killer_?" He made sure that he was loud enough for the cameras to pick up. Wouldn't want anyone at home to be disappointed.

Naveen glared at him. Jackpot. Though his moves were quick, Dean knew that he wouldn't get any quicker unless his opponent was scared. If this were the Dark Ages or some shit, Naveen would have been the perfect hunter. And those were his attempts, his pushing taunts that got under Dean's skin, but Naveen was used to chasing scared animals. Dean Ambrose was a whole new type of game. If Dean could manage to shrug off Naveen's taunts, he wouldn't get wild, and Naveen would lose. Piece of fucking cake.

Dean grabbed him before he could climb to the top robe, suplexing him backwards onto the mat. He kept his back bent, but Naveen managed to struggle out of it. In the process, he kicked Dean in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He grunted, struggling back to his feet.

Naveen posed for attack, swinging punches, most of which Dean managed to dodge. He was still trying to get his breath back, but Naveen wouldn't stop. He delivered a high-kick to Dean's chin, knocking him over like a sack of bricks. He groaned, finally able to get his breath back. But as soon as he did, Naveen was on him again.

Dean growled at him, trying to loosen Naveen's hold. Blood dribbled down his chin. Naveen's kick had made him bite his own lip. "You think I haven't seen you fight." When he broke the hold, he turned back to Naveen, fists raised. "I'm not a scared animal like your other opponents."

Naveen smirked, fist raised in a mirror image. He wasn't wearing green anymore, but he fought just the same as he had in the house shows. The way he looked at Dean suddenly reminded him of his father. His smirk was that of someone who considered themselves better. Better than Dean. That little thought alone had caused is blood to boil. "You lunatic fringes are all the same."

Dean narrowed his eyes. "Call me lunatic one more fucking time."

"I don't take orders from psychos."

And before Naveen could throw another punch, Dean pushed off his feet, slamming Naveen down under his weight and throwing punches wildly. The referee watched closely. Naveen shoved him off and Dean was breathing heavily, fists clenched as he got to his feet. He was seeing red by this point. Naveen delivered another high-kick to him as he attempted to calm down. This time, he'd missed his chin and hit him in the mouth, opening the wound on his lip even more.

After wiping the blood from his mouth, (which proved no help, it was everywhere) Dean turned to grapple Naveen again, but he wasn't in the corner he'd just been a second ago. While Dean was turning, Naveen had chosen an opposite corner and climbed to the top rope. The crowd stood, cheering loudly.

Dean had thought of catching him, but as soon as Naveen's feet left the top rope, he was on top of him. In mid-air, Naveen had placed his arm across Dean's chest, delivering something of a clothesline. It was incredibly painful, slamming Dean's entire back and the back of his head into the mat. Before he could catch his breath, the referee had counted to three and Naveen rolled off of him, struggling to his feet with his arms raised. Dean continued to lay there for a moment before the referee helped shove him off the mat. He was disoriented as another referee approached ring side and slung Dean's arm across his shoulders, helping him off stage.

Dean couldn't be mad because he spent the better part of an hour not knowing what was going on. The doctor in the medic room examined his eyes and helped him sit up off the medical bed.

"It's fairly common. He just had the wind knocked out of him something bad. Might be some minor shock." The doctor turned to a nurse. "Get me some alcohol for this lip." He examined it closer, wiping the blood with a rag. "No stitches, maybe some glue." As the nurse gathered the supplies, the doctor asked Dean a few questions. Dean did his best to answer. If he hadn't been so disoriented, he would have just skipped the medic's room like always.

Roman was waiting outside the medic room, arms crossed and hair still wet from his previous match. "You alright?"

It was like a light had switched back on and suddenly Dean was mad. I mean, raving mad. He was ready to punch someone's face in, but also wanted to be alone. He turned to Roman. "I've got to go."

Roman gave him a look. "You really think it's a good idea for you to drive?"

Dean didn't turn back as he angrily trudged away. "I'm a fantastic driver."

Every person he passed had a temporary look of fear in their eyes. Good. Just what he wanted. He hoped nobody got in his way to the parking lot, because he was close to snapping. He grabbed his keys from the young parking attendant and made the trek through the parking garage.

He'd never been a fantastic driver. He knew it. Roman knew it. The Authority sure as hell knew it. His foot was pressed hard on the gas pedal. He didn't care if he wrecked the fucking car. He didn't give two shits. He'd out-driven cops before and, in this mood, he would do so again. He didn't need to be pushed right now.

The elevator was too slow. He ran up four flights of stairs. The adrenaline pumping in his system made anything possible. He was somewhat sure that this was her room. If not, he'd knock on every damn door in the building until he found her. When there was no answer, he growled. He didn't have his cell phone on him and was still head-to-toe in ring gear. He paced up and down the hallway, staring at the clock on the wall every few minutes. Just as he prepared to head back to his own room, he heard footsteps up the stairs and saw a group of Diva's heading for him. They were all changed in casual attire and laughing as they approached him. Most of them ignored him, but one of the Bellas gave him a strange look.

Trailing behind was the duo of Bayley, and _jesus christ fucking finally_ Emma. Bayley gave him a concerned look that only increased tenfold as she noticed Dean was sitting by Emma's door. Flashing him a questioning look, Emma waved a very reluctant Bayley goodbye. As Emma unlocked her door, Dean stood up. She pushed it open, with him following inside. Dean was keenly aware that most of the Divas had yet to enter their room and thus witnessed him trailing behind Emma. He couldn't care less, right now.

It was uncomfortable as he stood there, waiting for her to turn on the lights. Instead, she turned to face him, the light from the window making her barely visible.

"Dean?" she sounded like she had been struggling to find her voice in the silence.

He realized that he wanted to kiss her right now. Just grab her and kiss her and maybe it would get his anger and frustration out. He'd done it before and hell, it worked. He could swear that he almost did it, but he managed to get a handle on himself. He was angry and she was pretty. That's the only justification he had for the desire to taste her pink lips. He was glad for the darkness, so she wouldn't see his hungry stare.

They remained quiet. Emma looked away, at the wall, at everything but him. She was uncomfortable. He was making her uncomfortable. It finally occurred to him that this was _Emma_, a girl who was helping him, A human fucking being with feelings and thoughts and emotions. She wasn't a girl to be kissed or fucked. She wasn't a vessel to make the anger go away. And he wasn't Moxley. Dean Ambrose didn't do that. Or, he tried not to at least.

Time had started again. He answered her. "It didn't work."

"No," she paused. "no it didn't." She turned on a lamp, brightening the room. "I need..." she sounded breathless. "I need to get his makeup off me. Just a second."

Dean stood there as she entered the bathroom, closing the door. Maybe she'd felt it, too. Or maybe he'd scared her. Either way he couldn't help but feel guilty. He sat down on the sofa, where she'd put her laptop. He should be at the post-Survivor Series celebration, drinking beer with Roman and Seth at some bar. Instead all he wanted was to spend the evening here researching. _With Emma_. He knew he had no desire to do any researching alone.

She exited the bathroom, her face bare of the thick makeup she'd been wearing and her hair pulled back. She was dressed in loose, comfortable clothing. Dean suddenly felt like he was imposing. "I know you probably don't want to-"

She waved him off. "I really don't mind. Don't you want to change into something else?" She gestured to his wrestling gear and he hadn't been expecting her to care that he was obviously uncomfortable.

"I'll be fine in this." He shook his head stubbornly.

She grinned. A little bit of his anger was gone immediately at that. "Here I'll go with you. We can talk about it a little on the way. We can't have a research party with you dressed like that."

He wanted to protest more, but she was being really insistent and bribing him with room service food. "Fine, fine."

She grabbed her hotel key and they stood in the elevator for two floors. The adrenaline had worn off and now Dean's legs felt like jelly. They both stood with their backs against the elevator.

Emma's eyes were still on the elevator doors. "I know why you lost."

He followed her out when the doors opened. "You do?"

She shrugged. "You're not going to like it."

"How can you judge that if you haven't even told me what it is?"

She stopped, letting him catch up. "Because I know you." He didn't have a reply to that. "And that's the problem. So does Naveen."

He glared. "Naveen doesn't know anything about me."

She argued. "Naveen is an expert at ring psychology. Any research you've done, he's done tenfold. And Dean..." they stopped in front of his room. "you wear your heart on your sleeve when you get angry."

He shook his head at her, continuing to be stubborn. "Naveen doesn't know shit about me."

She frowned as he opened the door with the hotel key in his pocket. She waited outside the hotel room, as Dean wasn't sure if Roman would want to pass out in bed as soon as he got back. He tried not to get too angry around her, because he knew he could be really scary, but Naveen really didn't know him. You don't learn everything about a person by watching them wrestle, that idea was ridiculous. He could accept that you could learn how to beat them at wrestling, but you couldn't learn what kind of human being they were.

Dean pulled off his ring gear, throwing it all in a corner and washing his face. With how sweaty he was, he decided to take a quick shower. When he was done, he changed into a pair of sweat pants and a white shirt. It was the most comfortable clothing he owned and he felt so much better when he was changed. As he grabbed his cell phone and hotel key, Roman entered the room, giving him a look. Immediately, Dean pointed to him. "Don't."

"She's nice."

"I said don't."

Roman shrugged. "I just said she was nice. Don't get defensive if there's nothing to be offended."

Dean bitterly chose to ignore him as he left. Emma was still standing against the wall, texting on her cell phone. She was smiling widely. It took her a moment to notice he was standing there. Man, he felt like a fucking creep sometimes. She was still glancing at her phone in the elevator. At one point, she bit her lip to keep from giggling. Dean stood there next to her, trying to come up with something to say.

He looked up as the elevator descended, noticing that the ceiling tiles of the elevator were actually mirrors. He saw a very tired and lazily dressed version of himself staring back at him. Next to his reflexion, Emma's was staring down at the bright little cell phone screen. It was one of those fancy smartphones Dean didn't have because he didn't know how to use them and adamantly refused to learn. He continued staring at her – at them, until she nudged his arm. "What do you feel like eating?"

He exited the elevator. "I don't mind anything."

"Come on, you have to have some idea." She entered her hotel room and grabbed the phone on the night stand. "I bribed you with food, you're gonna get food." She let the phone ring, examining the room service menu.

Before she could speak, Dean came up behind her and grabbed the phone. He was almost a foot taller than her, so it was to his advantage. "Do you have like...a shitload of pizza?" The man on the other line might have been offended...or he might have found it funny. Dean wasn't paying attention either way as Emma struggled to reach up and grab the phone back.

She laughed, giving up. "You're terrible."

He took that as surrender and ordered just a bunch of popcorn, ignoring Emma's insisting that she wasn't hungry. He hung up the phone. "Hey you said I could have anything I wanted."

She turned on her laptop, stil laughing. "A shitload of pizza is not on the menu."

Dean stretched his arms again, running a hand through his curly hair. He hated how it looked dry, all fluffy and shaggy like some teenage boy, but slicking it back really wasn't worth it for the evening. A very annoyed-looking young man delivered popcorn bags for them as well as a large bowl and Emma popped it all in the microwave as Dean searched through wrestling forums for more of Naveen's indie videos. "I've watched every single thing here."

"Yeah that's what happens when you research one guy for a whole month."

"Has it really been a month? Weird."

"Yep." Emma set down the bowl of popcorn in front of the couch, on top of a coffee table. "That's why I was trying to steer the conversation to you."

Dean knew when a person was choosing their words carefully with him. He gave her a suspicious look. "Come on, just spit it out."

"Well..." she paused a moment, thinking. "look...we're professionals aren't we?"

"Yeah?"

"And we're two professionals doing research for our careers, correct?"

"Yes, get to the point."

"Okay, sorry." she briefly looked at the computer screen. "In my opinion...as a professional...I think you should do some outside research."

He rubbed his eyes. "Okay tell me your opinion on a non-professional level."

"We need to do research on you."

He gave her a strange look. "I really don't need to research myself...because I'm...myself." He didn't know how to explain it any clearer. Wasn't she supposed to be smart?

Emma gave him a half-smile. "That's the thing. We both need to do research on you. I need to do a...psychological evaluation."

He drew the line, sighing. "Absolutely not."

"I had a feeling you would say that."

"You really don't want to push this..." he wasn't threatening her and she didn't take it as such. They both knew that Dean had a lot of skeletons in his mental closet.

"You're going to hate what I have to say next even more." Emma bit her lip.

"I've already hated most of this conversation, go ahead."

"We have to research Dean Ambrose..._and_ Jon Moxley."

Dean stayed quiet for a moment, his thoughts churning. A mix of panic and discomfort filled him. It was a fight-or-flight feeling, but he decided in this situation neither was an option. His voice was quiet, but very serious. "No."

He'd expected a fight. He'd seen first hand how pushy she could be sometimes, especially when she became focused on a task. It was an admirable quality, really, because she got well ahead in life by being pushy when others were timid. But maybe she was better at reading him than he thought, because she immediately backed off. "Okay. We won't do that."

"You won't do that." He knew he was being selfish and demanding, and he wouldn't have blamed her at being offended for his harsh command. But she kept her face neutral and began scrolling down the wrestling forums.

"I won't do it. With or without you." He felt much better after she spoke. Though it probably didn't make her feel too well, he didn't think he would have any ability at all to even look at her again if she analyzed him like that. Especially if she went all the way to his roots. There were just some things he didn't want to remember, or have others remember. To his surprise, while he had been brooding quietly, Emma found an old video. She smiled. "This will help explain the basics of psychoanalyzing people based on their actions. It's pretty old and mostly talks about body language, but it's something."

Dean leaned back, allowing himself to relax a little, as she plugged her laptop into the TV. It turned on, revealing an old tape from the 1990's that looked like it had been made for a college psychology class. Or, at least what Dean would imagine being in a college psychology class. Emma crossed her arms, focusing on the woman in the pantsuit that discussed eye contact.

Really, it was all supposed to be quite serious. This research was for Dean's huge match against Naveen at Royal Rumble. Supposedly, Triple H said that if Naveen beat him then, his career would be over. Not likely, but nobody took threats from Triple H lightly. Instead of focusing on the video and attempting to learn, Dean had ended up making some snarky remark and that Emma cracking up.

They'd watched the whole two-hour video with absolutely no seriousness. Both made comments about her pantsuits and the hairstyles and glasses of the other actors in the film. It really wouldn't have been helpful anyways, considering it was about body language in the office environment and the idea of working in a cubicle appalled both of them.

Dean honestly would not have minded just staying up and watching stupid videos with her, maybe he could get in a horror film in. But the fun came to an end when the old video did and Emma found more practical videos to watch: some William Regal matches and interviews and really popular matches that contained a lot of emotional value in them. They even re-watched a few of Naveen's matches, including all the ones Dean had been beaten in, much to his disapproval. The sun was rising by the time Dean passed out on her couch, watching with disinterest as Naveen kicked Sami Zayn in the face.

He jolted awake, turning to find the clock on the wall. It read a little past noon and he was already late for his workout routine. And then the realization hit him that he was on a post-PPV break. Since coming into charge of the WWE, Triple H had pushed heavily for more breaks between shows, especially after PPVs. Dean had two days before his next match, which was a lifetime when you were a WWE Superstar. He decided that this couch was really warm and comfortable and he could skip the gym for one day, Seth and Roman be damned.

His cell phone rang in his pocket and he groaned, reaching for it. He flipped it open. "Hmm?"

"Good morning...or, oh wow it's afternoon already. Sorry I had to bail, Paige is back in town and I promised her I'd meet her at the airport." Dean blinked for a moment, realizing it was Emma on the line. He turned his head, noticing that he was in her hotel room, on her couch, covered in a pink fuzzy blanket.

"What...the hell is this blanket?" he mumbled, shoving it off him.

"You weren't complaining when it kept you warm." she teased, laughing at his confusion. "You were mumbling about how freezing it was, so I got it for you." she sounded a little sheepish at the end.

He wasn't sure why his pulse quickened, but he half-thanked her and she hung up almost immediately after. He straightened his bunched-up shirt and ignored how his hair probably was sticking up everywhere before deciding to leave the apartment. His hotel bed was probably better for his neck than her couch.

He trudged down the hallway, almost running into Nikki Bella as she retrieved some ice. She gave him a strange look, most likely because she'd seen him leave Emma's room. Before she could say anything, he headed for the stairs, practically jogging down the two flights to his hotel room. He opened it quietly with his key, just in case Roman was sleeping.

He was wrong, as always. Roman was an early to rise kind of fellow and Dean was actually thankful for it for once. Just as he was preparing to get in bed, Roman exited the shower, probably just back from a long jog. He whistled. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything." Dean practically flopped onto the bed. Roman kept his bed perfectly made, but Dean didn't give a shit and pulled the blankets all around him.

"Did last night exhaust you?"

Dean was already tired and irritated, so he could only barely hold back his harsh snap. "Jesus would you drop it already? There's nothing...happening, okay?"

Roman pulled on a jacket, preparing for the cold weather outside. "I was talking about your match, but alright."

Dean glared at the wall, cursing his assuming brain and loud fucking mouth. "Ignore everything I just said."

"Now, I can't promise that." Roman pulled back his hair. "But I'll let you sort it out yourself." With that he left the room, leaving Dean angry and now wide awake. He decided to try to force himself to sleep, but fate fucking cursed him because his phone buzzed. He opened it to see a text from an unknown number.

_It's Nikki Bella. You're not getting off the hook that easily._

He dropped his phone on the floor at that. Something told him that, between his loud mouth and obvious appearance to the Diva's, he was about to be in for his own special brand of hell. How'd she even get his number? Oh yeah, John Cena was her fiancee. Cena made sure he had a way of contacting absolutely anybody. Shit. Dean closed his eyes, trying to relax.

He had fallen asleep again after about an hour of forcing it, only to be woken from the ringtone on his phone. Annoying shit. He ignored the 17 text messages for now and picked up the call.

"Hey!" came Emma's voice before he could say hello. "What are you doing right now?"

"Just woke up." he yawned, pulling himself out of bed. The clock on his nightstand read 4 in the afternoon. He felt gross.

"Oh good, because Roman sent me to come wake you up but I wanted to call first."

Thank god she did. Roman would pay for this later. Then a thought occurred to him. "Are you outside my door?"

She laughed. "Yeah, I'm not alone. Paige is with me."

He signed, practically rolling out of the bed, and changed into black trousers and another one of his thousands of white tees. He picked up the phone. "Okay I'm awake. Where does he want me to meet him?" He opened the door before she could answer, frowning at the two Divas.

Emma hung up the phone when she saw him. She paused for a moment before smiling again. She must have read something funny on her phone or something because she looked really happy. Paige gave her a look, noticing it too. "He said he's at a local gym and that you didn't have to participate but you should at least watch."

"Jesus is he my dad or something?"

She shrugged. "He was very insistent."

"Probably because I lost the hell out of that match."

"Probably." Paige decided to add her part to the conversation. Emma elbowed her and they laughed.

"Oh! Before I forget." Emma reached into the bag slung over your shoulder. "You left the venue pretty quickly last night, Dolph Ziggler gave me this." She handed him a roll of black tape.

Dean took it, shoving it in his pocket. Dolph could have just given it to him, but he chose to give it to Emma instead. He was not interested in dealing with that bleached fuck's antics. Speaking of dealing with antics, they passed by a group of Divas inquiring with hotel staff at the front. In the group was Nikki Bella, who gave him a hard stare. He glared right back at her.

"What the bloody hell's her problem?" Paige said a little too loudly, still distrustful of the Divas.

"She's probably wondering what we're doing with Dean Ambrose." Emma shrugged. "I'm sure she wasn't trying to be rude or anything." Emma always tried to see the positivity in people, but the implications of what she just said made his stomach churn angrily. _Yeah, what are you doing with Dean Ambrose? That crazy fuck could just kidnap you or something. What a ridiculous idea to even be around him when he's a psycho lunatic._

"Hey." he whirled around to them, pointing behind them. "I'm going to ditch Roman."

The two Divas looked at him strangely, but didn't bother to question him. "Alright..." Emma paused. "Well, enjoy the rest of your day."

He looked at her for a moment. He almost gave in, almost went with them to deal with whatever shit Roman wanted to talk about. (He had an idea, but was only willing to go there for the company on the walk.) By pure willpower he turned and headed the opposite direction down the street, wandering aimlessly.

He was stressed and he was sure Triple H was going to be unhappy he went off somewhere alone. But he didn't need a bodyguard, he was his own bodyguard. He walked for a bit until the hot sun got to him and he entered the nearest bar. It was some sort of sports bar, with football stuff decorating the walls. Nobody payed any attention to him. He sat on the bar stool, tapping his fingers impatiently.

He was stressed. He deserved to relax and nobody was going to convince him otherwise. He'd just lost a huge PPV match and on top of that people thought he was some sort of weird person to be around. _Emma_ thought that. His phone buzzed and he opened it casually. It was then that he remembered that he had a bunch of unread messages. Scrolling through them, they were all from Roman. They ranged from _When you get up lets make up for some lost time at the gym _to _I'm worried about you, man. What is up between you and this girl? I know it's not my business but you're acting really weird._

He ordered a whiskey as he read. It seemed that Roman was worried about him. He rolled his eyes. He didn't need people fucking worried about him. He could take care of his god damned self. He didn't need some brute breathing down his neck or some girl who thought she could solve all his problems by psychoanalyzing shit. He didn't need a mother or a therapist. He downed the drink in one swing. He just needed to train harder.

The last message from Roman read: _I had a feeling you would ditch. You can't hide from your feelings forever._

Dean was already feeling the buzz. Man, it had been a long time since he'd drank hard liquor like this. He continued tapping on the counter, blatantly annoying the other patrons but hey he was big and scary and they wouldn't dare touch him. He didn't have feelings. He didn't feel anything. Nothing. There were no brothers, no ex-brothers, no friends, no pretty girls who smiled at him. Nothing and he liked it much better this way. This way was simple. He closed his phone, taking the battery out, and spun it on the counter as he continued drinking and thinking.

Triple H would probably put him back in AA counseling, but holy hell right now it was worth it.

**Alright now that I've gotten through this bump on the road, we can head into Chapter 5, where the real story begins. Hope you're all enjoying it. I finished this early, so instead of releasing it post-Raw, I'm releasing it two days before in thanks for the reviews I got!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

It was 10 in the evening, post-Smackdown filming, and Dean was drunk as hell again. This time, though, he had company. Roman Reigns sat on the bar stool next to him, touching nothing but the glass of water in front of him. Dean had been quiet again, thinking over and over again about Naveen's taunts. He'd been forced to fight his way through several jobbers, just to be on the receiving end of a Naveen promo. His ears were still ringing from how loud the crowd had been cheering.

Naveen had smirked at him in that way that boiled his blood and he couldn't do anything about it but watch as he was told over and over again that he could never win, because he wasn't tactical. Seth had been tactical and that's how he came up on top. Even Roman was more tactical, while making up for the rest in pure powerhouse. Naveen laughed, looking down on him and Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been so angry.

So, he decided to hell with it all and headed straight for the nearest tavern.

"Dean..." Roman started after a long silence.

"Hm?" He grunted, not looking up from the glass.

"We should be training."

"Yeah, we should be." he agreed, taking another swig of the whiskey.

Seth approached him behind, talking to Roman quietly. "Okay, cab's out front."

Roman nodded. "Okay, Dean, let's get you home. We have training tomorrow morning."

He could have fought them. Both of them. He could have caused a huge scene, but there really was no point. Dean was not an idiot. They had to give him some credit. With his arm slung over Roman's shoulders, he was led out of the bar. Once he started walking, the alcohol really hit him.

He was quite aware that he was an obnoxious drunk. He was loudly asking the cab driver if he'd ever been to New York City while Roman was trying to calm him down. Seth, on his right, was trying not to laugh at Dean's antics as Roman glared at him. Dean turned to Seth, poking him a bit too hard.

"See? I'm a lot more fun to party with than Hunter, huh?" Seth only gave him an uncomfortable look and Roman pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion. As he was being dragged away from the lady at the receptionist desk in the hotel room, Seth and Roman began arguing over how they were going to handle Dean's heavy drinking. "I can hear you!" He practically yelled out before Roman should quiet him down.

A few hotel patrons gave him looks and he was going to tell them where they could shove themselves before he saw a rush of blonde hair pass by him. He stumbled out of Roman's grasp and stood at the elevator, where Emma had entered. He was going to say something, probably something rude, but the words were caught in his throat when she briefly looked up from her cell phone at him. She looked disappointed. Then the doors closed.

Roman and Seth came up behind him, pushing the button for the elevator. They exchanged looks that told Dean that they knew what had just happened. Luckily, both men chose to stay quiet. It was routine at this point, dragging Dean to his room with Roman, but they were all getting pretty sick of it. Fast.

"Alright, let's get you in." And Roman threw Dean into the shower, fully clothed. He leaned back against the glass, frowning.

Suddenly, Emma's teachings became more apparent to Dean when he saw the look on Seth's face and his body language. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Roman was in the room. Or he was afraid of Dean. Probably both. Hopefully both. "Rome..." Dean started, "I want to talk to Seth."

Roman looked unsure, like he would be returning to blood all over the walls, but he figured it was time these two dipshits talked it out. Wordlessly, he left the room. Seth stood by the sink, not daring to approach. "Look, Dean..."

"Don't fuck with me. You aren't here to talk about what happened. You aren't here to try to be my brother again. It's something else." Seth look surprised, he didn't expect Dean to be so interpretive. Dean pointed at him, well not quite at him. There were three Seths spinning around in Dean's view. He blinked and shook his head. "Tell me what you're fucking itching to say."

Seth let out a breath, clearly unwilling to start this conversation. "Dean why are you doing this to yourself again?"

Dean leaned back, slamming the back of his head against the shower wall, but he didn't feel it. "Because I'm going to kill Naveen."

Seth rolled his eyes. "No, you're drowning yourself in your own self-hate again."

Dean was ready to stand up and punch Seth in his stupid fucking face, but he knew that would only result in him falling over helplessly. "Sh...shut the fuck up." He weakly slurred, feeling drowsy.

"Dean..." Seth started, looking to the floor like something had just occurred to him. "What's going on between you and Emma?"

"Emma..." he sighed, frowning at the shower tiles. "nothing's going on. We're business partners." He turned to Seth. "You should know that means it's purely professional." He enjoyed every bit of hurt that Seth looked. Ever fucking bit. Since Seth's betrayal a year and a half ago, Dean had barely touched the women he'd enjoyed so much. Because nothing could make him feel good, nothing made him feel better except for punching Seth in his stupid grinning face and feeling two-toned hair gripped roughly in his hands. He was pretty sure that he wanted to kill Seth. And he probably would have, too. That part made Dean suddenly feel violently ill. Seth leaned towards him as he hunched over, but he held out his hand against Seth's chest, pushing him away. "Get out."

Seth had a thousand emotions written on his face, but the main one was worry. Dean shrugged him off for one last time and he wordlessly left, the door slamming behind him. Dean hunched over, vomiting stomach bile, because he hadn't eaten all day. After a half hour of dry heaving, he weakly reached up for the shower knob, turning it on as he sat in the shower.

Slowly, he pulled off his clothing, a difficult task when drunk and soaked. He piled it in the shower and began vigorously scrubbing his hair with shampoo. No matter how hard he scrubbed, he still felt dirty. He had to practically crawl out of the shower, brushing his teeth until his gums bled while tying a towel around his waist.

He slowly opened the door, searching for any clean clothing. He hadn't done laundry, so all he had that wasn't sweat-stained or wet was some of his ring clothing – black trousers and a white shirt. He pulled it on right there, knowing Roman was dead asleep and Seth was gone. He scrubbed his hair with the towel, already feeling more sober, but wide awake.

It was very early in the morning when he left the hotel room. His hair was still damp and dripping a little, but he didn't care. He searched for a vending machine, picking out an energy drink that made his stomach hurt, but sobered him up more. He practically ran down the stairs, narrowly avoiding the Bella twins. Brie promptly ignored him, but Nikki harshly called after him. The sound of it echoing in the stairway hurt his head so bad that he actually stopped. She walked back down a few steps, getting dangerously close.

"If you seriously believe you're going to go to her room again when you're barely even sober..."

Before Brie could stop her, Dean was answering her. "I'm going to find the nearest strip club. You're more than welcome to come with me." He knew he was being lewd and the disgusted look on her face satisfied him.

Unfortunately, Nikki Bella was not someone to fuck with. She smirked. "You're really so ashamed that you'd rather people still think you're screwing around than actually hanging out with her?"

Dean whirled on her. Not violently, but he still hadn't expected her to hold her ground. "Listen here, I'm still not quite sober. So I'm going to make it clear to you that you need to mind your own goddamned business before I scare you into sicking your boyfriend on me."

"Don't act like you're some complicated mystery. You became a different man when Seth betrayed you. Everyone saw that change in you and," she scoffed, "it actually made us all think that Seth betraying you was the best thing that ever happened to you, because you became an adult. Now look at you. That woman is giving you a chance and you're blowing it, you idiot."

He continued his unfazed glare as she turned her back and jogged up the stairs, Brie in tow. As soon as they were out of sight, he slowly trudged down the staircase, continuing his path. Instead of stopping at the second floor, he went straight to the lobby. He figured he was properly dressed anyways.

Somebody passed him, greeting him. He ignored them. Pushing off his feet, he started running down the street. It was chilly and late in the evening but the run made him feel good and was beginning to sober him up. His legs pumped harder and harder as he ran past dumpsters and alleyways, beneath the streetlights. He had gotten a couple of miles down the street until he was in a quiet suburb. The houses were small, but nicely built. Houses he'd never grown up in, houses he would never have. He admired the fences that lined down the road. All unique to every house. Separately they all looked nice, but together it looked like a cluster fuck. A cluster fuck of everyone trying to be different, everyone trying to look better.

He was stopped next to a house that was painted one of those obnoxious shades of blue. The ones that made the house look all bright and corny in the daytime. And he remembered how blue her eyes were when she looked at him, disappointment marking her features. She was disappointed in him and he actually found himself caring, which was really stupid. He would just ignore her, go back to the partying and the girls in strip clubs. Those girls admired him, those girls wanted him. Most of all, those girls didn't want to psychoanalyze him, to fix him like some fucking broken record. He wasn't some project. He took in a deep breath.

That's what he would do, just ignore her. Never speak to her again. They were two different breeds of wrestler. She was ridiculous, with her stupid gimmick. She was nothing like him and none of the information she held was valuable to him at all.

With this conclusion, he began jogging back to the hotel. As the streets became more familiar, his speed increased. Soon enough he was running as hard as he could, breathing rapidly. He could feel his heart beat in the tips of his fingers. He ran so hard that nothing mattered anymore except here and now, where he was. And where he should be.

Where he fucking wanted to be.

He didn't want this fucking life anymore. He wasn't 22 in Puerto Rico. He wasn't Jon Moxley. He wasn't even Dean Ambrose anymore. He was a completely different person. In a year and a half he became a completely different man and he didn't want to drift by until he drowned himself in his own self pity and need to be admired.

He needed her. He needed her to teach him what everyone else had refused to teach him. It occurred to Dean that he couldn't win without her. He had become perfect at offense, but his problem was defense. He didn't know how to defend himself against Naveen because he'd spent his entire life on offense.

He caught himself against the wall, finally stopping as he gasped for air. He shoved the doors open, immediately heading for the elevator. He was still breathing hard when he reached it, punching the button of her floor. Again, it was a mild guessing game. There was a chance she wouldn't be there or he would have the wrong room. He pulled out his cell phone, scrolling until her name popped up.

Not wanting to knock considering it was almost three in the morning and would cause a scene, he listened as the phone rang. He was pacing down the hallway. On the third (and last, he promised himself) try, her drowsy voice answered, sounding concerned.

"Dean, what time is it?"

"Emma, let me in."

Slowly, her door was opened. Two doors down from the door he was standing in front of. Just his luck. She squinted against the light of the hallway, beckoning him into her dark room. Once inside, he waited as she rubbed her eyes, pulling a robe over her pajamas. "Dean, it's three in the morning." But she didn't sound annoyed, only concerned and confused. "What's going on, are you alr-"

"I'm sorry." He practically blurted out at her across the room. She blinked, still rubbing her eyes. "I'm sorry." He repeated, more quiet this time.

"If this is about your drinking, it's your life and I ca-"

"Four months ago at Summer Slam I almost hurt you when I got in a fight with Wade Barrett. I'm sorry." He stepped towards her, taking it as a good sign that she didn't flinch away.

She gave him a strange look. "I never expected you to apologize, Dean. It's okay, really."

"Emma," he started, not comfortable with what he was about to say. "wrestling is the only thing in my life that ever truly mattered to me. And that fucker Naveen is not going to take it away from me. I'd do anything to get a one-up on him because..." he sighed. "I have to beat him at the Royal Rumble pay-per-view." He was glaring and fidgeting, but Emma seemed to get the point.

"You'll do anything?"

"Yes."

"Let me analyze your old matches." she stood straight, as intimidating as she could be being a foot shorter than him and wearing pink pajamas.

He paused for a moment, thinking. He remembered during one of his matches with Naveen, the other man had grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back, yelling: "This man is a problem. This man is a sickness in the WWE. I will show you all how to get rid of the sickness." Then he had repeatedly slammed Dean into the mat as the crowd cheered. The crowd saw him as a sickness. They saw him as nothing more than dirt. No. He hadn't worked his ass off for ten years to be treated like he was at the bottom again.

"One condition." He finally spoke. "Don't use any of the shit you see to try and fix me or whatever."

She looked slightly shocked, like the thought hadn't even occurred to her. "People are not broken. You can't just fix people. Dean, that's not my place and that's not what I'm trying to do. I'm not going to try to solve all your problems. I'm going to help you solve just this one." She walked to her bed, turning on the lamp. "Come. Let's get started."

He hadn't moved from his place the whole time. "It's really late."

She turned on her laptop. "Better get going, then."

He watched as she typed, approaching slowly to finally sit next to her. It was awkward, at least for him. She seemed too focused to notice. The sheets were still crumpled from when she was sleeping. "You've got a long drive ahead of you tomorrow, wasting your sleep on me is stupid."

Emma rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "Paige is driving tomorrow. Old school rules don't apply in our car, that means I get to sleep. Here..." She pulled up a few videos. "Are you ready?"

He wasn't. But if he could handle millions of people watching his ramblings as Moxley and Ambrose in FCW, he could handle her watching them, too. It started out pretty painful, having to see some of his uglier, drug-infused rants where he talked about dumpsters and shooting dogs. Emma kept a neutral face the whole time. It was seven in the morning and the sun was rising by the time she got to FCW and he was trying not to doze off as she focused.

"Dean." she whispered, snapping him out of his drowsiness.

"Hmm?"

She gave him a very brief, sad, smile. It was quickly gone, underneath a neutral mask. "You've had a very hard life."

He yawned. "Yeah, I know, whatever."

"Naveen has, too." He couldn't disagree. He'd watched some of his street fights in India and they left the son of a bitch bleeding like a stuck pig. Most of those fights he was barely wearing anything, obviously quite poor in his youth. He'd started from the bottom, just as Dean had. "I think in order to beat him, you have to play his game. Not by going against it, as you had last time." She held up her hands, gesturing as she talked. "Instead of playing the wild animal that can't be controlled, you need to play the hunter."

Dean rubbed his eyes. He was trying to stay on the same level as her, but it sounded ridiculous out loud. "So...I need to hunt...the hunter?"

"Exactly!" she smiled, a determined look in her eyes. She went off into ramblings, talking about strategies and plans, but Dean was barely able to hear any of it. He was exhausted from the running and still queasy from the alcohol. He sat with his head against the headboard of her hotel bed. She wasn't talking anymore, just looking at him. He could feel her stare. He blinked, trying to shake himself awake. "It's okay, Dean." she said, softly. That was his cue, he guessed, because as soon as she said that he was passed out.

He jolted awake, something that was beginning to become a habit, and realized that he was in an unfamiliar place. He looked around, not seeing well in the bright light, but he could hear bits and pieces as he woke up.

"-can see the way you look at him. Why is-" and the voice was drowned out by harsh whispering. He heard a laugh next to him that woke him up fulled. He turned to see Seth sitting beside him.

"Good morning, sunshine." He looked at him watch. "Well, afternoon."

Dean blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. He was in a car. How he got there, he had no idea, but he figured the two-toned idiot next to him had some sort of clue. "Where's Rome?"

"He abandoned us, said we both sleep too much. Left with Wade Barrett a couple of hours before us."

"Traitor." Dean groaned, rolling his neck.

In the front seat, Paige and Emma were quiet, listening to the banter. Paige had a rare smile on her face as she glanced into the rear-view mirror at them, but Emma was staring out the window. He couldn't see her face, but he could tell something was bothering her. Paige's hand briefly left the steering wheel, taking Emma's and squeezing it. Emma turned to her, giving her best friend a sad smile.

Dean wasn't going to question what was going on, instead focusing on the fact that he was in a car with Seth Rollins for the first time in almost two years. Seth started talking about his new wife and the exciting stories that came with having a wife. To be honest, Dean didn't care. Marriage was weird. It's not like they were any different than when they were just dating.

"You know...I'm glad you came to the wedding." Seth looked at him. "I know you didn't want to."

Dean stared back. His stomach suddenly felt tight. Before he could reply, Paige pulled into the parking garage. "Alright, boys, we're here."

Emma was the first to step out of the car. She stretched her arms, admiring the view outside. Paige slung her backpack over her shoulders and pulled her suitcase from the trunk. Dean had been told that Roman took care of his bags, so Seth volunteered him for carrying one of Emma's. He pulled the suitcase behind him as they all walked to the hotel.

Emma caught up with him, walking to his left. "Here, I've written notes." She handed him a folded piece of paper. "Just to help you out." He took it, placing it in his pocket without opening it. "Paige and I are tag teaming tomorrow night, so we need to train. Guess I won't be seeing you until after the pay-per-view." Paige had moved on ahead of them for her room. Emma explained that she didn't like sharing rooms, a habit from her more isolated days in the indies. Seth was still with them, but trailing far behind. When Emma stopped by her room, she took her suitcase from Dean's hands. Her voice was quiet, nearly a whisper. "I'm handing you the reigns from here." Softly, she placed her hand on Dean's arm. It was the most contact they'd ever had. "You're going to do great. I've watched you become who you are today from...from who you were only a few years ago. Good luck."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but quickly backed off of it, pulling her luggage into her room.

He left her then, having not said a single word. As he walked down the hallway, he nearly ran in to Seth. The other man must have seen the emotionally conflicted look on his face, because, before he could mask it with a scowl, Seth said: "C'mon man. You've got a lot of training between now and tomorrow night." He had a look of empathy on his face and Dean didn't know what he was thinking. He didn't want to know what Seth was thinking.

Briefly, he turned back to glance at Emma's door, memorizing the room number. "Yeah, okay."

**Disclaimer that I personally don't consider Jon Moxley and Dean Ambrose the same character, but it worked better for the story that Moxley was a younger...very drugged up Dean. Hope you like it. Next chapter, Royal Rumble featuring Naveen vs. Dean Ambrose...for the last time.**


	6. Chapter 6

**I own nothing but the strong feelings that writing this chapter gave me.**

It had to have been one of the most violent matches he'd ever been in since signing with WWE. There were certain points that he was blinded by his own blood.

_Wrestler Dean Ambrose dies live on television, more at 11. _He could see the headlines now. He remembered thinking that the tape on his hands was too tight, that maybe he should have studied Emma's notes harder, that maybe he should have bothered to see her at all in the 24 hours since he arrived.

He was panting as he stood up, wiping the mix of blood and sweat from his brow. Triple H and Stephanie McMahon would be absolutely infuriated that Dean had managed not to protect his face from the turnbuckle. Dean had uncovered it earlier, hoping to finish Naveen off early, but it backfired when he was held against it instead. Hey, it was no holds barred. He could do whatever the hell he wanted. And, really, couldn't blame Naveen, honestly. Dean knew exactly how to push his buttons.

Though he was the one bleeding all over the mat, he was in control. He laughed at Naveen as the younger man attempted to overpower him. Naveen would shout: "Fight me clean, you coward!" But to no avail.

Dean stood on the second rope, his calves against the ropes around the turnbuckle. He held his arms out. "I don't fight clean, _lunatic killer._" The blood really added to the affect. The referee was becoming visibly worried, as the match had lasted a good ten minutes with Dean bleeding. He jumped off the rope, narrowly avoiding Naveen's assault. The younger wrestler was visibly more frantic.

Dean had learned a lesson in having to deal with watching himself. A fantastic and painful lesson. In the midst of a fight, he focused all his attention on trying to hurt his opponent. He never thought on defense. He never thought to hide his thoughts and emotions. Naveen could see it written on his face every single time he struck a nerve within Dean. And he would twist and pull on that nerve until he had the upper hand. He kept his face neutral, save for a sly smirk every once in a while, as Naveen tried to pin him once again.

Kicking out, he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself up. It was becoming more difficult with the blood he was losing, but the adrenaline kept him on his feet for the moment. He panted, gripping on to the rope. Just as he regained balance, Naveen was rushing towards him, aiming to clothesline him off the mat. He dodged again, looking at if it didn't faze him. He couldn't hear the announcers, but he saw briefly from their faces that they were in awe that Dean Ambrose wasn't acting like a flailing psycho. Good, he liked surprises.

Naveen wasn't bleeding, but he was drenched in his own sweat. Dark eyes narrowed, he roared at Dean. He was too late for a charge, though, because Dean took the hint and read his body language (_feet posed for take off, arms gripping the rope_) and ran straight for him, tossing him back off the corner. He narrowly missed the steel steps, but was down on the ground, writhing in pain. Dean gripped the rope, peering over at him and smirking.

Naveen gripped the apron and pulled himself up, not down for the count. Dean stepped back and allowed him to crawl back on to the mat. The younger man rolled onto his stomach, still panting. Dean took control and grabbed his neck, pulling his head and chest back painfully. From the way Naveen cried out, Dean could tell he broke a rib or two and the position was applying pressure. He pulled back until Naveen was flipped onto his back. Before the ref could start counting, Naveen attempted to sit up, but Dean caught him. He was only being held up because Dean had one hand gripping the hair on the back of his head. He smirked down to the other wrestler.

"You ever try to get inside my head again, and I'll _kill you_, kid." Dean growled low enough for only Naveen to hear.

Taking a shaky breath, Naveen glared at him. With a determined look, he elbowed Dean, shoving himself up to his feet, running desperately for the corner. The crowd was on their feet when he climbed to the top rope. Dean was fully focused at this point. He remembered the pretty lettering on the scratch piece of paper in his pocket.

_Ignore the crowd, don't look at them or what they're doing._

He watched as Naveen crouched low on the top rope.

_Watch his face, watch the insecurities. _

He stood his ground as Naveen's feet left the top robe, his arm pulled back for a clothesline.

_You can do this._

Dean took a deep breath, prepping for the catch.

_They'll never expect that you are the one in control._

Dean opened his eyes. The roar of the crowd was deafening when he caught Naveen. He could almost hear the announcers screaming at each other. He smirked. She had signed the bottom of the paper with lots of smiley faces and stupid bubbles. _For encouragement!_

He threw Naveen over his head, suplexing him as hard as he could. He got up, pacing around Naveen as he lay flat on the ground, knocked out. The ref lifted his hand three times to no avail and called it. Dean didn't realize his palms were shaking until the crowd roared and the adrenaline started to wear off. He bent over, catching his breath, watching a few drops of blood spill onto the mat. When he felt he was able to speak, he exited the ring through the ropes and approached the announcers, all who look somewhat shocked. He grabbed a mic from the announcer's table and entered the ring again. Naveen was still on the floor when Dean approached him. He held the microphone up to his mouth, but said nothing. He just continued staring down at the beaten man before throwing the mic across the ring.

He slowly made his way up the ramp as his music hit. He didn't bother to look back. Backstage, Renee Young approached him with a scruffy-looking camera man. It wasn't on yet, as they were preparing for a shoot for Backstage Pass. "Dean, Dean!" she caught him before he could brush past her.

"Not now."

Renee Young gave him a determined look. "You're contracted to talk to me when I approach. Just be a good employee for once." Her tone was more business than malicious and he sighed because, really, she was just doing her job. Persistent woman.

"Fine."

"Do you...want to clean up first?" she made a gesture around her face and he realized that he was still bleeding from the cut on his eyebrow. It was beginning to stain his shirt. He was surprised at how unfazed she was about it.

He shrugged. "Nah."

She gave him a half-smile. "Alright, it's your funeral. Get that camera on, Mike."

The scruffy dude named Mike made hand signals to count down to recording. After one, the red light came on and Renee young announced herself and Dean, the camera focused between them both. Dean stood uninterested for most of the interview as she re-capped what had just happened. He answered her questions with one or two words, looking around him. Finally, he couldn't take how long the interview was taking and he placed his hand in front of the camera lens. "I've got to go."

Renee frowned at him and he would pay for it later but right now that didn't matter. She shook her head as he left, announcing that Dean Ambrose was always an unpredictable character.

He stormed down the hallway, scaring a few passerby with the blood on his face, until he found the Diva's locker room. The Royal Rumble match was going on currently, the main event, so all the Divas were done with their matches. God he felt like such a creep. He awkwardly knocked on the door, immediately backing up.

Nikki Bella opened it with a smile on her face that quickly fell when she realized he wasn't John Cena. "What do you want?" He glared at her. Okay fuck this, he wasn't going to deal with this. He was a few steps gone when Nikki called after him. "She's in here, you idiot."

Though he didn't appreciate the insult, he turned around anyways. Nikki closed the door and after a minute it was pushed open again by a casually-dressed Emma. She had been laughing at something one of the other Diva's had said, but it fell when she turned to him, the door shutting behind her. "Dean?"

"Uh..." he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I, uh, won."

Though her eyes were concerned, she smiled. "Yeah, I was watching."

He swallowed thickly. After a life of not getting the credit he deserved, he was a man who knew to give credit when credit was due. "I really...I really owe you one."

She shrugged, still grinning. "It was all you, I just helped a little."

He gave her a crooked grin. "I wouldn't say that."

She signaled for him to wait a second before peering into the Diva's locker room real quick. "Hey Paige, I'll meet up with you later." She then turned back to Dean, grimacing at his eyebrow cut. "If I promise to buy you a drink will you get that looked at?"

He liked to adamently refuse medical treatment, especially when he could just stitch the thing up himself. But really, he wasn't going to argue against a free drink. He shrugged, following her down the hallway to the trainer's room. The medic grabbed a wet towel and gave it to him so that he could mop up all the drying blood on his face and neck. It stung, but the stitches on his eyebrow were done quickly and efficiently. Another cool scar to add to the growing list.

Emma pulled her keys out of the bag slung across her shoulder. "Do you plan on going to the after-party at the lounge?"

He held the ice pack to his forehead, applying pressure. "I didn't really plan on it...but you do owe me a drink."

She was pleased with his answer. "Great. Do you mind if I drive you? You've lost a bit of blood tonight."

He shrugged, indifferent. "I'm not going to say no." When they arrived to the hotel, they parted ways and he met up with Roman in their hotel room. He was freshly showered, bruises covering his arms from a rough Royal Rumble match. "You done with the shower, Rome? Wait up for me." He grabbed a button-up and slacks.

Roman gave him a confused look. "Didn't think you'd want to come. You're not a lounge party type of dude."

"Yeah well I'm changing it up tonight." He briefly washed his hair, scrubbing the remaining blood off of him and changing. He exited the room with Roman still staring at him in disbelief.

The lounge was one of those fancy fuck places, but filled with wrestlers, it became more of a club than anything. Dean had made sure to focus himself away from the crowd, as close to the bar as possible. He still ached and his arms felt heavy, but he was awake enough. Roman had left him as he was led away by Triple H. Most likely the two men were discussing the Royal Rumble match that Roman had won. Dean practiced tapping his fingers on the wooden bar. It was a habit he had when he was nervous, not that he'd admit that to anyone.

"Whatcha playing there, Mozart?" Emma was suddenly next to him, beaming and dressed in a floral gown.

"Bad Habit in D Minor." he replied dryly, hiding his hands underneath the bartop.

She giggled. "A masterpiece."

Paige came up from behind her, between them. She gave him a knowing smile, which he only frowned in reply to. "Mind if I steal her for a second?" He rolled his eyes and she hooked arms with Emma, leading her off the bar stool and into the crowd. He played with his cell phone, spinning it on the bartop. Behind him, he heard a group of the Divas laugh. He could hear Paige and Emma bustling about the room until they came back to him. "Alright, your turn Ambrose!" Paige called.

"Hmm?" Emma was suddenly next to him, pressed against his side with her phone held out in from of them. He made no effort to smile in the photo. She was beaming.

"I'm making a collection." she grinned, still pressed close to him. She moved to sit on the barstool next to him, admiring the album of photos she just took. "I still owe you that drink."

"Just this water is fine." he shook the half-empty glass in front of him. To everyone else, it would look like vodka.

She raised her eyebrow. "Just water?"

"Yeah." he gave he a half-smile that held no mirth. "I don't really feel like drinking, you know?"

She smiled, not questioning it. "Alright, but I still owe you a drink. How do you feel?"

He was still staring at the glass. "Depends."

She put her cell phone away, into her bag, and leaned on her arm on the counter. "I'm going to guess your head and arms hurt like hell, especially after that match. You did lose a lot of blood."

He didn't meet her gaze. "If you already knew how I felt physically, then why did you ask?"

She turned, breaking her stare at him. "I wasn't asking about physically." He didn't respond to that. "What were you going to say to him, before you threw down the mic?"

He paused for a moment. "I was going to go off on a tangent, scream at him, mock him for thinking he could get the best of me."

She signaled the waiter for a drink, ordering a second water. "Sounds like your kind of promo. What stopped you?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, he was already passed out. But I guess it all kind of hit me that this rash, foolish kid who thought he could just control people reminded me of how I was or something, you know? How I acted when I first got in the big leagues. I was a cocky son of a bitch just like him and I got my ass beat into the ground just like he did. Figured I'd already humiliated the kid enough." He took a swig of the water.

She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger. It was really long and straight and, in this light up close, he could see that it was many shades of blonde. He was fiddling with the damp napkin under his drink when he noticed she had leaned closer to him. It was harmless really, as she was just getting a better look at his scar, but his hands felt clammy and alarm bells rung in his head. Before he could ask what the hell she was doing, she spoke. "I've never known a turnbuckle could cause so much damage."

"Yeah." he replied, dryly, "I gave William Regal a pretty good scar on his ear once. Those things can hurt like hell."

Seth passed by them quickly, giving Dean a quick pat on the back. "Great job, man."

Emma watched him with wide eyes as he was ushered away quickly by a couple of other wrestlers. He must have had business to attend to. "Dean..." she asked cautiously, her voice low.

"Hmm?" he finished off his drink, setting it back down on the now soaked napkin.

"Are you and Seth...?"

"We're as good as it's going to get." he shrugged before she could continue. "He's still not my brother."

"Really? I heard it was a Shield tactic to take over the Authority."

"Yeah, that's what you heard." She looked like she wanted to keep asking him, but something was holding her back. He sighed. He already was incredibly indebted to her. Maybe he could give her this and they would be even. "It wasn't a Shield tactic, it was a Seth Rollins tactic. He really did think he could take over and become champion by himself and he did that tenfold, but he didn't take into account that the WWE is a pit filled with bloodhounds ready to tear each others' throats out. He didn't take into account that he would be dealing with me. And by the time he'd received his third wound from me, he came to terms with the fact that he needed Roman and me to succeed, for different reasons. He needed Roman to be his partner, to elevate him. He needed me to stop dragging him down. I don't know, maybe he genuinely missed having brothers, but he only gets one back." He turned on the barstool. "I'll never be his brother." He was looking around, in search for Roman.

She gave him a sad smile. "Need a ride back?"

When he couldn't find Roman anywhere near, he nodded. "I'm starting to feel dizzy or something."

Maybe it was the drowsiness from the loss of blood, or maybe it was the atmosphere of a quiet nighttime drive, but he was leaned back in the passenger seat with his head turned towards her instead of out the window. He appreciated this view more. The dress was one of those flowery things she liked wearing, but this one was more fancy than her other ones. It was one of those really tight dresses with layers and it showed off just how well-toned she was. He bet she could pick up two women at a time, Glamazon style.

The radio was on, but turned so low that it was barely discernible from the sound of the busy street outside. She was completely focused on the road in front of her. Inside her bag at his feet, a small chime went off. "Oh," she said, eyes still on the road, "can you get that? It's probably Paige."

He dug her cell phone out, staring at it for a second before awkwardly poking the screen to answer it. "Hello?"

The other voice was definitely Paige's. "Dean? What the hell?"

"She's driving." he mumbled, rubbing his eye with his free hand.

"Well, I knew you weren't the lounge party type, but going just to take her back with you? Well played." she sounded genuinely impressed, but he was not having it. His heart rate sped up a little and he took a breath before answering.

"I can't drive because of the blood loss."

"Sure, sure. Tell her I'll see her when...or rather, _if_ she comes back. Play safe!"

He rolled her eyes, hanging up without a word. Or, at least, he thought he hung up. He wasn't sure because the screen went dark. It chimed again, alerting a response to something on Twitter. "You have an, uh..."

She had recognized the particular chime. "Who's it from?"

He squinted at the message once the Twitter app opened. "I Like Sami Zayn?"

"Oh," she beamed. "alright, don't worry about it. Thanks."

Dean set the phone back, unsure how to exit so he just let it turn off automatically. "I don't know how to work those things."

She giggled. "I know, I've seen your Twitter."

"My Twitter?" he blinked, "Oh yeah, that thing they forced me to get. Yeah, I'm never going to use that thing."

"I figured." She parked in the garage, opening the door. He followed her out, holding tightly to the door to stay upright. "You alright?" She approached him, concerned.

"Yeah, I just need a moment." he leaned against the car.

"Here, I'll help you." He looked hesitant when she wrapped her hand around his arm. She smiled at him. "I'm stronger than I look."

They walked like that for most of the way, one of her hands gripping his bicep lightly. She assured him it was just in case and he managed not to stumble too badly. In the elevator, she let go of him so that he could lean against the wall. The elevator was particularly slow for such a large hotel, but he didn't mind the quiet. He could feel her staring at him, hear her quiet breathing, but his eyes were closed as his head leaned against the cold wallpaper. His eyebrow was beginning to throb painfully.

They reached his hotel room. "Oh," he started, "I almost forgot. Paige said she would see you when you returned to the lounge." He wasn't going to add in the other things she'd said. Emma nodded, smiling. Her eyes glanced to his arm.

"Never realized you had so many scars on your arms."

"Yeah," he leaned against the door, "used to get a lot of shit from Stephanie McMahon about it. She wanted to put me in therapy. Insisted they were just from fighting." He crossed his arms. "I'm old enough to drink my problems away. Almost makes me feel bad for those straight-edge fucks."

She gave him a smile. It was a mix of sad and...something else. He wasn't sure. They stayed like that until her phone chimed in her bag. She looked down at it, sighing. "It's Paige...I've got to go. Designated driver." He nodded digging his hotel key out of his pocket. "Dean..." she stopped him before he could enter the room. She stared at him for a moment, blue eyes gazing into blue. The words that came out of her mouth weren't the words that were written on her face, but he couldn't read her emotions. "You were really great. Get some sleep." She then took a step back, turning and walking back to the elevator.

He took a minute to watch her leave before he entered the hotel room. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaustion suddenly hitting him as he yawned. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off. Hesitantly, he pulled out his phone as he lay back on the bed. It wasn't one of those fancy fuck smartphones, but it still had internet. Not that he ever really used it. He opened the browser, finding her Twitter through the search app. As expected, she had the pictures from the lounge uploaded already.

He scrolled down the photos, all tagged, until he found the one she'd taken with him. He was frowning, giving the camera a strange look as she beamed, practically pressed up against him. The caption read: _Caught this guy by surprise. I'm sure not many can say that. #lovemylife #congratulationsdean_

In the dark, Dean allowed himself to smile, snorting at the ridiculousness of the picture. He closed his phone, setting it on his bedside. Tomorrow he would deal with the repercussions of his match on Raw. He prepared for the early morning he would be having tomorrow, as he needed as much training as he could get.

He would need to remind himself to ask Emma if she was up for an early morning run.


	7. Chapter 7

**I own nothing.**

"This is going to get ugly." Roman shook his head, crossing his arms. They were all gathered in a training room, watching the Diva's match on the television monitor. A couple of younger guys behind Dean were making lewd comments, but one look from Wade Barrett shut them up. Dean was sitting on the refreshment table, watching intently. He should be stretching, because his big match was tonight, but he couldn't help his own curiosity.

On the screen, they all watched as Alicia Fox and Sasha Banks entered stage to Alicia's music. She didn't have her usual cocky grin, it replaced by an intense glare. Most likely because the two of them would be going against Paige and Emma. Emma had a...well, let's call it a _fixation_ on Alicia Fox. Dean wasn't one to use the word _obsession_, for obvious reasons. When Paige's music hit, Emma came along with her, doing that strange dance of hers. Comically, she upped the pace a little, making it look like she was adamantly trying to poke a fly. When the music faded and she stopped, Emma's eyes were only on Alicia. Dean frowned. She was already breaking one of her own rules.

"_In a singles match, one hundred percent focus was on the opponent. But in a tag team match, you kept at least fifty percent on your partner."_ Emma didn't even spare a glance to Paige as the raven-haired woman entered the ring.

The match didn't last very long, unfortunately. Only a few minutes in, Emma was finally faced with Alicia. Dean squinted, trying to read Emma's lips as she said something while putting Alicia into a submission hold. Whatever it was, it absolutely enraged the other woman. She broke Emma's grip and stared her down with an almost animalistic rage. Growling, she pulled her fist back and punched Emma square in the face.

The entire room of men cringed as Emma fell back onto the floor. Alicia rushed forward, punching Emma repeatedly with closed fists in the head. Paige entered the rope and threw Alicia off of Emma, but the referee had already counted to five, disqualifying Alicia and Sasha. Alicia left the ring immediately, Sasha having to run after her to catch her.

Paige was bent over her friend, concern on her face as she helped Emma to her feet. The crowd let out an audible groan when the camera caught a full view of Emma's bloody nose. To her credit, she didn't look to be on the verge of tears or anything. She looked quite neutral, but she may have just been saving face. Dolph approached him. "Dude, you might want to go meet her back there."

Dean stared at him for a moment. He was keenly aware of the other men around him and their staring. He shrugged. "Why should I? I don't know her."

Dolph gave him a disapproving stare before exiting the room. Dean crossed his arms. Really, it's not like he was her boyfriend. He didn't need to go checking up on her and he was sure she had other people who would be there before him. He ignored the looks Roman and Seth were giving him as he grabbed some tape and exited the room.

Walking down the hallway, he saw a medic rush past him. Coming towards him, to his luck, were Paige and Emma, both looking exhausted. Before he could discretely pass them, Paige called out to him. "Dean, meet us after your match!"

He didn't say anything to her, just quickly glanced at Emma. The blonde woman was staring off into space. She had that look on her face that told him she was thinking hard about something. He didn't like being told what to do, so he would see how he felt after the match. Then he would decide if he was up to Paige's _request._

Slowly wrapping the tape around his hands, he stood at the entrance to the stage, waiting for his music to hit. To his surprise, Triple H was actually on stage, using the mic. By his side was Naveen, who looked like hell. The younger man had an enraged look to him. Dean knew that look well. He'd felt it and been on the receiving end of it many times in his career.

"Dean Ambrose," Triple H's gravely voice boomed, "you think you've proven yourself? You think you're a better man, a stronger man, because you beat Naveen once? Well he's beaten you four times! I don't see how the odds are in your favor. What do you say we have you come out here once more and try your luck?" The crowd cheered loudly at his words and Dean heard his music hit.

Pulling on the ends on his tape, he entered the stage, walking down the ramp as the crowd continued cheering. Triple H awkwardly made his exit, using his cane to balance as he ducked under the ropes. He watched from the sidelines as Naveen posed to fight. Dean stood still, watching him with cold eyes.

Really, from the way Naveen was wobbling, he was still out of sorts. He swung at Dean, who dodged it. He swung again, yelling in frustration when Dean once again dodged. "Just fight me, you idiot! Do what you must."

Dean rolled his eyes. Really he could knock him out again in two seconds flat, but... "You're in no shape to fight. I'm not going to fight you." He backed up until he was against the ropes and ducked under, exiting the ring. He stood in front of the announcer's table, in front of Triple H. "You can take your damned feud and shove it. I'm not going to fight some beat up kid."

Naveen attempted to jump him as he made his was to the ramp, but Dean ducked. Naveen was sprawled on the ground, groaning, when Dean grabbed him and roughly helped him to his feet. "What do you think you're doing?" Naveen growled, voice laced with venom.

Dean spoke to him in a low tone, to where only he could hear. "I'm not the smartest guy, but I know something about humility. You keep this cocky attitude and they're going to eat you alive in here, you hear me? I would know, I've been there, kid." He patted Naveen on the shoulder and the younger man just stared at him in confusion as he exited the stage.

Triple H was infuriated, because on screen that was the end to the feud. You couldn't just pick up from that part and Dean knew it. He had successfully ended his run with Naveen, which he figured was best for both of them. Let this be a lesson to any of these new guys who think they can take over the world by getting into peoples' heads.

Speaking of people trying to get into heads, he was about to pass by the training room, where a medic was stationed. He figured Roman and Seth would be grabbed for a surprise match anyways (since Dean's cut-off just left 15 minutes of Raw wide open) so he might as well. Better than dealing with Paige's wrath later.

Knocking on the door, he waited for a good minute before the doctor opened it. Behind her was Emma, an ice pack placed on her face, below her eyes. She gave him a little wave and the doctor stepped aside so that he could enter. Inside the training room another monitor was set up, like the one in the room with refreshments. The doctor told Emma that she would be right back, earning a nod from the blonde woman.

"That was brave of you." she said, her voice sounding a little funny from the ice pack on her nose.

He grinned, "That was stupid of you."

She shrugged, "Yeah it wasn't my best maneuver. Note to self: she doesn't take head-on advice too kindly." He grimaced when she pulled off the ice pack. Her nose had been straightened again, but it was bruised something terrible. "I'm surprised it didn't really hurt, at least not until they straightened it. Don't think I'll actually cry about it until I look in the mirror."

He stood in front of her as she sat on the medical bed. "It's really not that bad."

She pouted. "I'm positive I'm going to be hideous now."

He snorted, breaking eye contact and turning to the screen. "Nah."

Paige entered the room along with the doctor. "Hey, you're checking out. And uh, hey you..." She added on her greeting to Dean, clearly not expecting him to be there. She was the one who fucking asked!

The doctor handed Paige a paper bag filled with bottles of medication. "Alright Emma, when you start moving you're going to get a little drowsy. You might feel some giddiness from the pain medication. I gave you a pretty good dose. Take these every 4 hours and I'll give you another check up in a few days. Until then, try to relax. You might need a bit of assistance walking. Luckily you've got Paige and this young man to help you." The doctor nodded towards Dean and he gave her a funny look. She knew his name quite well, but she was being really coy. Paige and her exchanged a glance that told him they were both fond of pushing his buttons. He sighed.

Emma grabbed her ice pack and hopped off the bed. Paige hooked arms with her, both of their bags slung on her other arm. "Here would you..." Without answer, he took their gym bags, slinging one over his arm and carrying the other. He offered to make sure Emma got to her room safely and expected Paige to give him a harsh look, but he was wrong. She gladly took his help. Emma was too busy staring out the window of the car to pay much attention. He wasn't sure why he was letting himself get roped into another drive with them, but after the evening's events he felt uncharacteristically sick of wrestling in general. He told them so, too.

Paige was at the steering wheel. "Those are words I never thought I'd hear from you."

"Well," he shrugged, "you saw what happened. I need a vacation." His cell phone rang. Roman was calling him. He pressed the ignore button.

"What a coincidence, we were thinking about a vacation tonight ourselves." Paige grinned.

Dean gave them a weird look. "You are aware Smackdown taping is tomorrow, right?"

Paige snorted. "What world do you live in? None of us will be taping for Smackdown. Well, not Emma anymore after her face reconstruction."

Emma laughed, swatting Paige's arm playfully. "Shut up."

Dean rubbed his eye. He looked down to read Roman's text. _You're in deep shit with Trips, man. _Ugh. He rolled his eyes, pushing the green call button. "Rome, what's up?"

"Where are you?" came Roman's reply, sounding winded. Dean was correct in guessing he would be recruited for a surprise match.

Dean frowned, looking at Emma, then Paige. "Out."

"Trips is going to suspend you. You broke contract."

He watched as Paige and Emma chattered, giggling at each other. Briefly, Emma glanced back to him. "Good." He hung up the phone. Once in her hotel room, Emma attempted at waving Dean and Paige off, but Paige wasn't having it. For a goth girl four years younger than Emma, she sure acted like the older sister. She pulled out a bottle of pills.

"Doctor's orders." Emma pouted childishly and Dean had to hold back a smile. She was such a kid, sometimes.

"But they already gave me some." she whined and Paige laughed.

"Yeah, but she said every four hours so we've got a little to go until your next dose." She checked the clock. "And I know you won't take them."

Dean raised an eyebrow and Emma sighed. "This is punishment for not taking my pain meds for my shoulder, isn't it?"

Dean frowned, suddenly awkward. He was reminded again of the whole tirade with Wade Barrett. If she was taking pain meds for her shoulder, it must have been a really big deal when he almost hurt her. Now he understood why Paige was so cross with him. Emma let out a deep breath, leaning back in the chair Paige had sat her on. She started giggling, playing with the ends of her hair.

Paige shook her head. "You're so weird on pain meds."

Dean just stood there, not sure what to do with himself. In all reality he should leave, let Paige deal with Emma. But something held him there. He was sure it was because he remembered being young in a foreign country on pain meds. Sure, he was abusing them, but they still made him feel light and happy like that. He remembered inside he felt really alone and he didn't want to be alone. He ran a hand through his hair. Even if she was perfectly fine, he didn't want to leave. Paige attempted at hiding her yawn, failing miserably. It solidified his decision.

"I'll stay, too." Emma wasn't paying attention, but Paige looked at him with wide eyes. His eyes darted to Emma, then back to her. For a moment, she gave him a look that told him she was reading his stare. He suddenly shrugged, not being able to look her in the eyes. "It's whatever."

Eyebrows furrowed, Paige suddenly broke into a crooked grin. "Didn't think you'd actually be willing to come along. Yet here you are, offering to stay here with us. Tell me, why is that?"

He glared at her. Before he could answer, Emma stopped playing with her hair. "He's my friend." She smiled at them both. "Ugh, I need to get out of this gear." She grabbed her gym bag and entered the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

It was silent when she was gone. Paige continued staring at him, expecting an answer.

"Like she said. We're friends." He was aware that he was being condescending, but he really didn't appreciate her prying.

She groaned in frustration. "Look, believe it or not, she really likes-" She was cut off by Emma opening the door and peeking her head out.

"I need help."

Paige gave him a smirk. "Don't get too excited. I'll help her with this." He rolled his eyes as she helped a dizzy Emma change into some more comfortable clothes in the bathroom. Sitting on the hotel room's couch, he opened his phone, glaring at the screen for no particular reason. In front of him, the television was playing some late night sitcom re-runs. It was an old show, from the 90s, he would guess.

Emma exited the hotel room, followed by a yawning Paige. Though her eyes were heavy, Emma was telling Paige that she should get some sleep. "No way Em, I'm not leaving you alone." The dark-haired woman watched as Emma casually plopped on the couch next to Dean, eyes fixed on the television. "Well, I guess I wouldn't really be leaving you alone. Ambrose, you sure you feel like babysitting tonight?"

"I resent that!" Emma frowned, eyes still on the television.

"Mhmm." He mumbled, focusing on the static. Paige shrugged, pulling back the covers of Emma's bed.

"Well, just in case, I'm staying here tonight. Wake me up if either of you have any problems."

Emma pouted, leaning on the arm of the couch. "I'm not a little kid, you know."

Paige laughed as she set her phone alarm and crawled under the covers. "You are when you're on pain meds. A sleepless little kid."

Emma snorted, smiling. "You're too kind."

He listened to this banter continue for another few minutes before Paige fell asleep. Emma informed him that she slept like a rock. When he asked how she felt about Paige's motherly behavior, Emma told him that it was one of the things she loved most about Paige. Even though she was older, Paige took care of her like a little sister. It's just how their friendship worked. She curled up on the couch, biting her lip to keep from giggling too loudly at the ridiculousness on the television screen.

Dean wasn't paying much attention to it. He was thinking of the next few days and how he would handle them. Triple H would never fire him, most likely he would come up with some elaborate scheme to play up the fact that he was suspended from wrestling for breaking contract. It would leave the audience wanting more and everybody would win in the end. Best for business. He sighed.

"You think too hard." he glanced sideways to see Emma staring at him with half-lidded eyes. She was leaning back against the arm of the couch, propped up by a pillow. The bruising on her face was already starting to purple. "I can read your face really well. You should try not thinking."

"That's not exactly the easiest thing to do."

"Sure it is." She sat up and grabbed and television remote, pressing the power button. It shut off the television, plunging the room into darkness. The only light came from the window, and then it was faint. He could barely see her anymore. His breathing felt heavier. "There. Now try not thinking." He sat like that for a long time. The clock was behind him so he couldn't keep track, but it felt like half an hour. He just continued sitting there in his thoughts. They clouded his mind as he went over them. "Dean?" her voice caught him off guard. He thought she'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah?"

"You're still thinking."

"Well, okay there isn't a switch or anyth-" he stopped talking when she adjusted her position on the couch, suddenly leaning against his shoulder. She was pressed lightly against his side with her feet on the coffee table. "What are you..." his mouth felt dry, "what are you doing?"

"Shh." His eyes adjusted to the darkness a little and he could see she had her eyes closed. He was frozen, unable to move or do anything about it. Alright, maybe she was warm and he hair was really soft. Slowly, she wrapped her arm around his, hand on his forearm. "The dark is kind of scary."

He found he was able to speak in a strangled whisper. "You were the one who turned the television off."

"It's okay." She said softly. "Sometimes I like scary things."

He continued sitting like that. Her tactic had the opposite affect she was going for. Now his thoughts were screaming at him. His mind was flooded with eight different kinds of panic, none of which he understood. He just sat back, trying to relax more. He could feel strands of her hair against the skin of his bicep. She smelled like some flowery perfume the Divas liked to cloak themselves in. But she also smelled like sweat and blood. It was a weird mix. He felt sick, but he was sure that wasn't it. The skin on her arm was soft and he could feel her pulse. It was as relaxed as she looked, while his was running wild.

He made the unconscious decision to think about Emma. Actually think about her. Who she was as a person. He burned down the mental walls he had set up. She was pretty but she never seemed to think about it. He wondered if she thought she was pretty. He'd tell her she was pretty, probably. Actually, probably not. He could barely say anything in his mind when he was around her. He was a walking defense mechanism and a lunatic on top of it all. Yet, she'd look at him with those big blue eyes like he was a human. A human with flesh and feelings and she wasn't afraid. Sometimes she liked scary things. He didn't want to be scary to her. He couldn't bear to entertain the thought of coming off as repulsive to her. Emma, who liked ice tea and bubble machines. The blonde girl who was able to keep herself away from all the ugliness that came with being a wrestler, and who could hold her own in a fight.

_Oh shit. _It suddenly hit him. Like a ton of bricks, he felt it in every fiber of his being. _Oh shit. Oh, fucking shit._

She felt him tense up and she sleepily lifted her head to look at him. "Are you alright?"

He hoped that she was too drowsy to notice the mixture of horror and infatuation on his face. "Yeah."

"Good." she smiled and he felt like he could stay like that forever. "That's good, Dean. Keep your mind clear. It's better for you." She let go of him, leaning to the other side of the couch and almost instantly dozing off.

He watched her for a moment, running his fingers through his hair. His phone buzzed, but he ignored it. He leaned back on the couch and covered his mouth with his hand in thought, staring at her.

_He was definitely going to hell._

The next few days were quiet, mostly consisting of traveling and training at various gyms. Since he was suspended for two weeks, he mostly trained and cut a few promos. It was nice, being able to trash talk without having to pay for it. For a couple of weeks, at least. Wade Barrett had said something to piss him off, so things were getting heated between them again.

He'd been avoiding Emma, honestly. Every time he saw her, he started feeling like he'd just ran 5 miles. It was exhausting to be around her because he didn't really understand the situation himself. And he wasn't going to talk about it or think about it. He put all his frustration into working out.

He was at a local gym in Green Bay this particular afternoon, Roman at his side. He'd just hurt his shoulder from working it too hard and was resting, an ice pack pressed to it temporarily. Roman was scolding him about stretching when the Bella twins, along with Bayley and Emma, passed by him. They were meeting up with a few other divas at the gym. Emma stopped suddenly, signaling Dean to follow her.

Hesitantly, under Roman's stare, he complied. When he walked up to her, she was standing in front of the other divas as they chatted about. "Don't hate me for this..." she whispered, and before he could question it, she said to him loudly: "Dean, we aren't in a relationship, right?"

He gaped at her. "Uh...no."

"Including sexual." She looked like she was about to laugh, but he was still gaping at her like an idiot.

"...right."

"There." her eyes flicked to the group of divas. He understood what was going on.

"Even if it were, it's not anyone's business if we're banging." he narrowed his eyes.

She busted out laughing. "Oh my god, you're such a dork."

He couldn't help the smile that grew on his face. "Yeah." She was still laughing when he glanced at the divas. Every one of them looked at him as if he had just grown another head. He cleared his throat, telling her that he had to get back to Roman. _Shit, shit, shit. _The look on Nikki Bella's face especially told him that she had an idea of what was going on with his (ugh) _feelings_ and shit. Dean Ambrose didn't just _smile_ at people like that, yet there he was grinning like an idiot to a blonde woman nearly a foot shorter than him.

He sat on the bench next to Roman, who was taking a water break. "What just happened?"

He wasn't really paying attention to his wording when he replied, "It's getting harder, man."

"Yeah," Roman re-wrapped the tape on his hands, "that's what happens. We all get a little more human, eventually."

He stared blankly at the group of divas as they surrounded Emma, who was politely brushing them off. It was bad enough that he was starting to become more exposed to his own thoughts. Now here he was like an open book in Emma's hands. He cringed. There was a lot of baggage that came with that book.

Drinking from his water bottle, he headed back for the exercise equipment. Some books just shouldn't be checked out. Fucking metaphors or whatever. He ran his fingers through his hair again.

He just wasn't going to think about it.

**Dean has a realization and that business with Naveen is, for the most part, complete. Wanted to have this chapter out earlier, but I have been having a worrying lack of inspiration. Thank you all for reviewing! The turn-out was absolutely fantastic and I appreciated every one!**


	8. Chapter 8

**I own nothing. It's unfortunate, really.**

He didn't need to pour water on his head before this match. The rain outside did that for him. They were in Seattle, hosting a charity event for young kids with cancer. To raise funds, some of the wrestlers were scheduled for matches and some for meet-ups and photo ops. Going along with his character, he was scheduled for a match with Randy Orton. He pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt as he changed into his wrestling boots. He was only half-listening to an event leader as he told the locker room collectively that they were to tone the violence down. Sick kids didn't need to be stressed out more than they already were and they certainly didn't need to see any blood. Dean pretended not to notice the man's eyes dart to him quickly.

He shoved his combat boots into his gym bag and stretched his arms, rolling his shoulder to make sure it was up to the task. It had really been bothering him lately, but he would be damned before he went to see the medic about it. There weren't many other men in the locker room. A few no-names from development, Randy Orton and a couple of other superstars, Sami Zayn (who was somewhere between the first two categories), and him. Roman, being apparently the most kid-friendly of the former Shield faction, was placed with the kids. He didn't know where Seth was and he didn't care.

Sami Zayn was behind him, bouncing on his feet. He was wrapping tape around just one of his hands as he did so. When he was done, he immediately headed outside the locker room. Dean's match was scheduled after his, so he figured he might as well try and figure out where the entrance to the ring would be.

As he left, he got a few looks from passerby. Despite the security, any one of them could easily approach him. Of course, none of them did. Those who didn't immediately recognize him were giving him wary looks. He walked around the venue, stopping when he found the large area that wrestlers would be taking photos of kids. He was about to step inside when he realized Emma would be in there. Yeah he wasn't going to deal with that pre-match. Backing up, he nearly ran into Sami Zayn. Jesus, this dude was everywhere.

The Canadian smiled at him. "Sorry man, I was trying to find the ring, same as you. Figured my friend might know."

Dean shrugged. "This is a big ass venue."

Sami laughed, nodding for Dean to follow him inside. "You'd think they would tell the performers ahead of time where to go."

"They probably are still trying to figure out this place, themselves."

Sami stopped at a booth surrounded by divas, all dressed in ring gear. He searched around as Dean watched from a little ways away. After a moment, he heard Sami's laugh as he found his target. He hadn't expected the dude's buddy to be a diva, and he expected even less for it to be Emma. She was dressed in her orange gear (he always thought that color would look ridiculous on anyone else) with her hair curled. She smiled brightly at Sami as he expressively talked, waving his hands in the air. She let out a laugh and Dean felt uncomfortable. He wasn't going to approach them, damn it he wasn't, but he couldn't help but wish she would see him. Just for, like, one second. He didn't know what he would do if that happened but if it meant she didn't have her full focus on Sami Zayn that was fine.

He broke eye contact with the pair and focused on the ceiling, perceiving the room as people passed around him. The place wasn't too crowded. There were probably more employees than anyone else. He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around until he heard Emma's laugh again. Damnit. He glanced back to them, only to see Sami hold out his arms expectantly. Instantly, Emma grabbed him into a hug, squeezing tight. Dean frowned. Sami could just hug her like that, have her completely in his arms, and he couldn't so much as look at her for two seconds without getting all clammy. What kind of stupid shit was this?

Sami waved her goodbye and she turned around before she could see who he was heading to. Dean was broken out of his focus on her by Sami's voice. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah." he instantly replied, before he could even register the question.

Sami probably noticed his staring, but he was too polite to say anything. The man really was one of those heart-on-your-sleeve types who kept an honest air about him. He wasn't a closed-up scumbag like Dean. Girls deserved men like Sami Zayn. "She gave me directions to the arena. Really sweet woman." Dean didn't say anything to that. They found the arena and ducked behind the black curtains. Sami checked the clock on the wall, noting out loud that his match was in five minutes. He gave Dean a thumbs-up. "Good luck."

"Yeah, you too." Dean headed back to the training room to pick up some tape to wrap his hands. He chose black for the day and sat on a vacant chair as he wrapped it around his wrist. Sami's name was announced before loud ska music filled the room. It sounded like noise to Dean, but Sami couldn't get enough of that stuff. He could hear loud cheering, even from back here.

Sami Zayn was really popular with the audience. They were attracted to his honesty and cheerful demeanor the same way they were attracted to Dean's eccentric behavior. He wondered how long he and Emma had been friends. Must be from their NXT days. Dean wasn't a part of that social scene. He was purely for the Shield back then, nothing else mattered.

He stopped wrapping the tape, making sure it was tight without cutting off circulation. Emma talked to him frequently on Twitter and she gave him that crazy bright smile that she usually kept reserved. Dean wasn't a good guy. Sami Zayn was an absolute good guy. Girls with hearts like Emma's should always be with guys like that.

He was going to continue digging himself into a pit of bitterness when he heard the stage manager call his name. He stood at the entrance, entering when his name was called. The cheering of the crowd almost drowned out his music. He didn't know the small arena could fit so many. In the front rows were tons of kids wearing tee shirts with the charity's logo on them. They were standing in their seats, jumping up and down. Did their parents know what kind of man he was? Why did children look up to him? He would never understand because he never understood children.

He approached the ring calmly, meeting up with Randy Orton. In a low whisper, Randy said to him: "Keep this clean, punk. For the kiddies." Then he flashed that cocksure grin of his. Dean wouldn't have minded knocking a few of his teeth out, but he had to stay pretty G rated. The match ended with him pinning Randy after his signature finisher. The crowd cheered for him as he raised his arms in victory. He was sweating from head to toe and was thankful for the towel a stagehand gave him backstage. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes and unzipped the front of his sleeve-less jacket.

He practically poured the cup of water all over him in the back room. He shook his head, opening his mouth wide to stretch his jaw. Randy was a hell of a fighter and decided to stop holding back halfway in. Not that Triple H would punish him for it, or anything. He took a deep breath, staring at the wall. It might have been the adrenaline wearing off, but he suddenly felt completely and utterly alone. He could hear the thunder outside and the whirring of the air conditioning and he just wanted to be near her, god damnit. He combed his hair with his fingers, trying to physically rid himself of the thoughts.

He suddenly felt upset and angry all at the same time. Before he could full-on throw a tantrum, he was approached by Randy Orton, who looked mad as all hell. "What the fuck, Ambrose? You got a goddamned problem following directions?"

"You mad because daddy said you could hit harder than me? Not my fucking fault you lost against half my strength." Randy immediately shoved him. Dean smirked. Finally, a great way to get out his anger and frustration. He shoved back, earning a growl from the other man. By the time they started swinging punches, a stagehand grabbed a few wrestlers to break them apart. Seth was in front of Dean, trying to talk some sense into him.

"I'm going to rip his fucking head off!" Dean attempted to grab at Randy again.

"Dude, what the hell's wrong with you?" Seth growled as he held him back. "This is not the time or place, you need to act like a fucking adult." Dean shoved himself away from Seth, glaring at him. Seth was glaring back, right into his eyes. Six months ago he would have taken it as a challenge. He would have punched Seth in his stupid fucking face. But this was the present and all he saw was a pleading look. Seth was trying to read him again. "Dean..." he started at Dean's look of frustration and sadness. His voice was soft, attempting to calm him. It made Dean feel cornered and he backed away from him, wanting to leave. He opened the door, rushing out, with Seth chasing him.

He whirled around. "Don't, just don't."

"Dean..."

"Seriously, don't."

"Look I know about..."

"Seth, I swear to God, don't you dare." He knew what Seth was going to say. He usually knew what Seth was going to say because there was a point in his life where Seth was his best friend, his brother, and this man was still the same man, but not the same brother. It didn't matter that it was a public place. He just didn't want to hear the words himself. He couldn't allow it to come out into the open like this. He had worked too damn hard in his life for every wall he built up to come crumbling down.

Seth raised his hands in defense when they were approached by Roman, a young kid by his side. He gave them both disappointed looks, but said in a cheery voice: "This is Daniel. He used to be a big fan of the Shield. Wanted to know if he could get a picture with us."

The little boy was dressed in the charity's white shirt and a Cena headband, but he was grinning ear to ear when he saw them. Of course they weren't going to say no. They all stood around him while his mother searched her bag for her camera. While she fumbled with it, the little boy in front of them held his hand out in a fist. Roman was best with kids, picking up the signal before they did. He held out his fist as well, over the kid's head. He was too short to be a part of the fist bump. Reluctantly, Dean raised his fist as well. Seth was in the middle, directly behind the kid. He had a very conflicted look on his face and it didn't look like he was going to participate.

Dean knew the kid would be crushed if he saw a picture like that, so he pushed back a bit of his pride and harshly whispered to Seth. "I'll give a little if you just do this." It was a vague statement, and it earned a questioning look from Roman, but Seth got the idea. Slowly, he raised his fist to meet with theirs. The mother took a few photos and left with her kid, the little boy looking back every few steps to make sure they were real.

Roman smiled. "That's why I do this man. To get those looks."

Not bothering to wait until Roman left, Seth turned to Dean immediately. "Spill it."

Dean swallowed thickly. "It's complicated."

"Guys..." Roman started before Seth could retort. "Not here. Go your separate ways and talk later."

Seth narrowed his eyes. "Fine. We'll talk later." He stalked off to the locker room.

Roman leaned in close. "You owe me." And he followed after Seth.

Dean watched as they left, waiting until they were out of sight to head for the meet-and-greet area. Chairs were being folded and put away by employees as the last of the kids got their pictures taken. Emma was in the same spot she had been earlier, but now she was being accompanied by Sami Zayn. He wasn't scheduled to take pictures, but couldn't resist when a couple of kids excitedly asked for some. Like the good fucking guy he was. Emma was sitting next to him as she signed a divas photo for a little girl. When the girl left, they began chattering as they both looked at her phone screen.

He suddenly felt like an intruder and turned to leave when Emma looked up and called out to him. "Hey, Dean!" Sami Zayn had a wide-eyed look on his face, like he hadn't expected her to just call out Dean Ambrose like that. He managed to look even more shocked when Dean turned and approached. He felt awkward, shoving his hands into his pockets again. "How did your match go?"

He shrugged. "As one would expect a match against Randy Orton to go. We got into a bit of a fight backstage."

She frowned. "Yikes, that's not fun. Next time you should volunteer to do this! I got to draw bubbles on all my signatures. How amazing is that?" She had this little grin on her face that made he look so childish and he really liked it. She looked so relaxed around kids, like she was meant to be a nurse and not a wrestler. It's not that he didn't like kids, he just didn't have much in common with them. Sami Zayn was great with all the little ones, of course. Grade A type of guy. He got up to take a picture with a group of kids, leaving Emma and Dean alone. She eyed him. "You look miserable."

"Yeah that would hit the nail on the head pretty well." He didn't meet her eyes.

"Want to talk about it?"

He paused for a moment. "You know me better than that."

She shrugged. "Worth a shot. Let me know if you want to take up my offer. Until then I'm absolutely starving and Sami and I are going to find a restaurant together. Want to come?"

Yeah he'd be an idiot to tag along with them. He was having some sort of weird, fucked up emotional day and he didn't think he would be able to handle being the third wheel on their dinner date or whatever. "No thanks, I'm going to find Rome and hit a bar."

Emma's brightness dulled a little. "Alright, be careful." It was clear she still wasn't comfortable with his drinking after how he'd spent nearly a month drunk just a short while ago.

"Yeah, okay." Emma was full-on frowning now, giving him a concerned look.

Sami approached before she could question him further. He left immediately, giving Sami a wave. The red-haired man was giving him a quizzical look before he turned back to Emma, shrugging. She had a small smile on her face, but her eyes were still filled with worry.

With a frustrated sigh, he searched the hallways and rooms for Roman, but couldn't find him anywhere. He found a room at the end of the hallway and opened its door with a bit too much force. As it banged against the wall, he saw Paige and Seth both turn to him. Immediately, he backed up to leave.

"Oh, no you don't." Seth came after him and beckoned him back in. Really he could have broken his promise to give him a little leeway, but he still had some shred of honor. He kept every promise he made to break Seth's face, didn't he? Paige stood there with her arms crossed as he slowly re-entered the room. He glared at her, but she was making no effort to move.

"Just the man we were talking about."

He rolled his eyes. "Spare me."

"We're not in public and Roman isn't here to bail you out. Spill it man." Seth's voice was harsh until he noticed the strange look on Dean's face.

Paige's cocky demeanor softened when she noticed it too. "Oh my god."

"What?" Seth gave her a strange look but she never took her eyes off Dean.

"Oh, Dean..."

He swallowed thickly. The room felt smaller than it had a minute ago. "I can't do this."

Seth frowned. "I'm not understanding. Dean, just tell us what's going on with you and Emma."

"Nothing..." he combed his fingers through his hair. "nothing is going on." That's the problem. The problem was that they were absolutely nothing. He was nothing to her.

"You know that's not true." Paige took a step towards him, but he backed up. "Look at yourself."

Seth was seeing very emotional sides of two people who typically did not show emotions and frankly, it confused him to all hell. "Dean, just tell me what's going on. I'm trying to help you."

"Yeah well you can't help me." he snapped, though his voice was quiet. "Neither of you can do anything about it. So just leave me alone." He backed up fully and left, walking right out into the main area of the venue. He spotted Roman. The Samoan had just finished up the rest of his autographs.

"Let's get out of here."

Roman saw the look on Dean's face. "Alright, there's a bar down the street if you're up for the rain."

"I just want to get out of here." He began scratching at his arm. The two men headed out, walking in the drizzle towards the nearest bar. It wasn't too big and people were keeping to themselves, which was nice after a long day. Dean was in no mood to be approached. He made sure to make that obvious. The bartender looked almost too afraid to take his drink order. He was tapping on the countertop again, his foot tapping in sync. Roman took a long swig of his whiskey before clearing his throat and turning to Dean.

"I take it Seth cornered you."

He glared at the countertop. "Paige, too."

"What'd they say?"

"They kept telling me to let it out about me and that blonde girl, the one who gave me pointers on psychological wrestling. I mean really," he downed the whole glass of whiskey, "they're both idiots. Like two people can't just talk about something without it becoming this big thing. I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine and they don't need to press the issue. She's just some girl. Sure yeah I think she's pretty, fine whatever. I think a lot of people are pretty. You're pretty. I'm pretty. Just because I associate myself with pretty people that are smarter than me doesn't mean anything."

A small smile grew on Roman's face as he shook his head at his friend. "You're in deep, man."

He glared at him. "What-no, there really isn't...you don't just..." he pointed at Roman, "how dare you..." he trailed off. He suddenly felt like breaking shit. There was nothing around him to break that wouldn't result in a lawsuit and media reports. Fuck knows that would only increase his problems. He set down the whiskey glass hard enough to get the bartender's notice.

Roman continued his stare. "Seth's problem is that he wants you to admit things. He still thinks he has you all figured out." He finished off his glass, patting Dean on the back. "Dean, I love you man, but you're one stubborn son of a bitch." Dean shrugged, frowning. He couldn't give Roman a proper reply because he feared that if he opened his mouth, everything would come spilling out. He listened at Roman continued. "Take it from someone who knows a thing or two about love. Don't wage a war within yourself. It'll only leave you both as casualties. Find her."

He tapped Dean's shoulder with his fist as they left the bar. They had a whopping one drink together, but took a cab back to the hotel anyways. It was only around six in the evening, but the rain made it look darker outside. He changed out of his normal ring gear and into some work out clothing. The gym was more than likely still open and he really wanted to get this out of his system.

The hotel's gym was mostly unpopulated, save for a few wrestlers. As he was doing shoulder presses, (the pain in his shoulder was best for drowning out his thoughts) he overheard two men enter the gym. Judging from their strange accents, they were Adrian Neville and Sami Zayn. Weird. He looked at the clock on the wall. Time had gone by much quicker than he had thought. It was already nearing 11 in the evening. Neville's thick accent pierced the silence of the gym.

"Heard you had dinner plans."

Sami Zayn gave Neville a shy smile. "Yeah..."

Neville nudged him. "You were much more excited about it this morning."

"Well," Sami adjusted the laces of his sneakers, "I thought maybe...you know. But she's great. A really great friend. It just...didn't click, I guess. At least not on her part. She seemed distracted the whole time. I just feel bad that she had to sit there with me when she wanted to be with someone else."

Neville pulled out a towel from his gym bag. "Who do you think she wanted to be with?"

Sami Zayn looked around the gym, spotting the other wrestlers (including Dean, but he was bench pressing and pretending not to listen), and lowered his voice as he spoke. Dean couldn't hear them because they were moving over to the other side of the room. Sitting up, he grabbed his stuff and headed out. Any more stress on his shoulder and he would have to answer to a very red-faced medic. Nothing would sour his mood more.

He walked up the stairs to his hotel room, taking a quick shower and laying immediately in bed. His pillow was soaked from his damp hair and it was keeping him awake. Well, that's the reason he told himself that he was lying awake at 3 in the morning. Groaning out loud, he rubbed his face and eyes as he sat up. His hair was a wreck and he looked like tired hell, but he still changed back into his ring gear and left the hotel room. Down the hallway, he was surprised to hear a noise. It was Paige, dressed in shorts and a teeshirt, angrily tapping on a vending machine. When she noticed he was watching her, she glared.

"I paid fifty cents and I'm getting my damn snack." He couldn't help but approach and reach up, tipping the machine forward until the snack finally fell off the metal hook it was stuck on. Paige crossed her arms. "I could have done that if I was a foot taller." He scratched the back of his head and shrugged. "Hey," she called after him, "I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry about earlier. I just...I really want her to be happy. She hasn't been very happy in a really long time."

He took a moment before he could summon the courage to answer. "I couldn't make anyone happy. Especially..." he sighed deeply, breaking eye contact. "Especially not her." There. That was the most he was going to give her.

She surprised him with a sad smile. "She taught you a lot. But you have a long way to go when it comes to reading people." She stepped by him, heading back down the hallway to the room she shared with Bayley.

Dean watched her as she left. His arms felt heavy and he knew he was tired, but his mind was wide awake. He felt a little overwhelmed by the walls and the stupid, ugly carpet of the hotel. It was all smothering him. Peeking out the hallway's window, he saw that it was still raining outside. Hell, it was only a drizzle. And he was scheduled to leave for his home in Las Vegas anyways so he could rest for a few days if he got a cold.

He took the stairs down, not taking any chances of running into anybody, despite it being early in the morning. The sun wouldn't be rising for at least an hour. It started off as a routine jog, down the sidewalk and back, but when he got to the point where he would normally turn around and head back, he kept going. He ran along a small bridge, the traffic light and the water over the railing dark, only reflecting the disappearing moon and stars.

The rain wasn't very heavy, but he had spent so much time running that he was now drenched. His boots felt clunky, but he kept pushing on. Over broken sidewalks and cracked pavement, he ran. Running was really what he did best. He ran away from everything, from everyone, from himself. He ran from his own fucking thoughts. His own fucking past. He own god damned feelings. He didn't want to think or feel or hurt anymore but the throbbing of his chest and his heavy breathing wasn't enough to push it all out. Not this time. He ran as the daylight began appearing and dawn was on the horizon.

Stopping at the end of some random street, he caught his breath in gasps. He was doubled over in pain, hands on his knees. Why the hell was he running? He was always running and it only caused more pain, more misery. He didn't want to run anymore, but was it really worth it to stop? He glared behind him, back where the hotel was, back where she was.

Was he really going to do this?

He didn't have time to answer himself, because he was already running back. Well, he was sprinting really. Through the pain in his body and the anguish in his chest, he ran as hard as he could. Dawn was taking over now, the whole sky a light blue when he reached the hotel.

He threw open the door, causing the receptionist to give him a wide-eyed look. He stormed past her, past the other wrestlers in the lobby with their suitcases, past the hotel staff in the hallways and stairwell as he kept on running. When he finally reached her door, he stopped. He was breathing and still soaking wet. He shook his head, trying to shake off the water droplets. Leaning against the wall, he suddenly felt nervous. Yeah, actually fucking nervous. Maybe because he didn't know what he was about to do. He had no idea what he was going to say to her. But he was going to say something, that he was completely sure of.

Once he caught his breath, he knocked on her door. Sure, it was early as all hell in the morning and he was being selfish, but he was going to talk to her. He had to do it now or he never would again. It only took one knock for her to open the door. She was dressed in simple shorts and a shirt, wrinkled from sleep. Her hair was a little messy and slightly wavy. She rubbed her eye with her free hand as he gave him a confused look. Stepping back, she allowed him inside.

He had planned to talk to her. Maybe get himself sorted out. Ask how her date went, if she met a lot of kids, how many matches she watched in her spare time. Stupid filler shit to beat around the bush and try to pick up hints. Paige had all but told him that he was shit at picking up hints but damnit he wanted to try.

His breathing was still heavy and he was aware of how he was standing in her hotel room, soaking wet and still breathing hard. He also knew that he was staring at her, right into those confused blue eyes. She was blinking rapidly, staring right back and all he could see reflected at him was worry. Worry and care and friendship and maybe something more.

_You're in deep man._

Roman was a fucking liar. He was a goddamned fucking liar and Dean would beat the hell out of him for daring to think that Dean was willing to ever have feelings for anyone. He wasn't even capable of such a thing. He was garbage, an absolute scumbag with no remorse. He would use and abuse just like he used and abused everyone and everything and he didn't want this stupid little girl or her stupid smiles. He wanted nothing to do with the person in front of him because she was fucking ruining him. His chest felt heavy and his stomach was tight with anxiety.

He wanted to run but his feet wouldn't move. He just kept staring at her in the silence. And he really looked at her. He paid attention to how soft her skin looked, indentations on her arms from how the bedsheets were folded under her. It was silent, save for the whirring of the fan above them and the traffic outside. The room was bathed in blue light from the rising sun through the curtains. A pained look crossed his face when he took note of how pretty she was. Really, pretty was a shallow word. A word he used only when bathed in sarcasm. This was anything but. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd every seen, not only because she looked slightly disheveled and could pull off anything with that perfect body, but because she had worry written all over her face. Call him selfish, but her having any bit of caring about him was the greatest thing because not enough people in his life had ever been truly worried about him.

Her voice broke the silence, a quiet whisper, like she was trying to console him. Maybe she was, considering it was in reaction to the terrified look on his face. "Dean..."

He shook his head, stopping her from speaking anymore. He took a quiet step toward her, closing most of the space between them. The air was heavy and he could hear her breathing now. Had it been shallow, he would have backed off immediately. It would have meant she was scared of him. He still feared she would be despite her keeping a brave face when dealing with him at his worst.

Instead, her breathing was deep and calm, though she still looked worried. Taking one last step towards her, there were only inches between them now. He saw the confusion in her eyes melt, hidden behind something else. Her eyes were on his, but when he took a deep breath, they briefly glanced at his lips. He knew what he wanted then, and he knew she wanted it, too. They didn't need to talk about anything. They could read each other.

He would have liked to have been gentler, thinking back to it, but he was greedy and when an idea came to his mind, he was fixated on it. Without waiting for her to take a step, he wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her against him. Before he could back out, before he allowed himself to back out, he leaned forward and kissed her. He'd meant to hold back, though his mind was buzzing with anxiety and something else, but she immediately responded to him. Her hands were on the side of his face, her fingers running through the hair on the back of his head, and damn it, it felt good.

He opened his mouth and she responded, deepening the kiss. He had to break it to breathe, but he would have been content to just never breath again because all of his senses were on overload and he could taste the toothpaste she'd just used and he could feel how soft her cotton shorts were and the warmth of the skin beneath them.

After making it last as long as possible, he broke the kiss to take a deep breath. She was still close to him and her hands were still on his face. There was a look of wonder in her eyes that he'd seen before but never really understood until now. She'd wanted this. She'd actually wanted Dean Ambrose to kiss her. The idea was surreal.

She was so small in his arms, but she felt perfect. He didn't understand why he'd been so afraid to touch her, because now that his hands were on her, he didn't want to let go. He ran his thumbs across the waistband of her shorts. She leaned up and gave him another quick kiss before letting her hands run down from his face to his shoulders. She bit her lip, whispering after a moment. "My plane is leaving in two hours. But I'll be back next week." He kept his eyes on hers. He knew to take the cue and let go, but her hands were still on his shoulders and he knew she was just as unwilling as he was. She gave him a soft, loving smile. "Do you want to drive me to the airport?"

He nodded and she grinned. He was still in awe, unable to return the gesture. They slowly let go of each other and he watched her as she reluctantly began to gather her things.

Next week.


	9. Chapter 9

**I own nothing.**

The desperate, selfish part of him wished that everything had ended with that kiss. That it would let out all the tension he'd been holding in. He figured he hadn't touched a woman in over a year and just needed to get rid of that animalistic part of himself.

Man, he was way fucking wrong.

Everything backfired when he finally claimed her. When her mouth fit perfectly against his and her arms were around his neck in an embrace so gentle, like she was afraid she would break a 6'2" wrestler. He felt how patient yet willing she was and it was beginning to drive him insane. He'd had willing, enough willing for a lifetime, but nobody he ever been with was patient. He shouldn't have been surprised, given how patient she was with him in her lessons.

And when she broke the kiss he very briefly felt like he had lost something. That's probably what scared him. His boots thudded loudly against the hotel's stairs as he climbed them. Yeah Dean Ambrose was fucking afraid, that's a laugh.

He frowned, toying with the hotel keycard until it finally opened the door. Expensive hotels had no business using shitty door locks. He threw his suitcase on the carefully-made bed and pulled off his polo shirt. This fucking dress code shit was going to be the end of him. Was it such a big deal to wear a teeshirt and sweatpants during a 5 hour flight? With the way he scowled at people, it took a brave soul to approach him when they weren't wanted anyways.

But he wasn't going to argue. Fighting corporate, unless you counted literally fighting them like with Evolution, was just never worth it. He tossed the black polo shirt on top of his suitcase and changed into a cotton teeshirt with the Jack Daniels logo decorating the front. He combed his hair with his fingers in the mirror. Yeah, he looked like an old guy at a frat party. Real boyfriend material. He cringed at that last thought.

He forgot to turn his phone back on after the flight and did so once he was able to dig for it in his suitcase. It buzzed a good ten times (mostly texts from Roman and his agent) before stopping long enough for him to find her name in his contacts. He thought briefly of maybe deleting it. Leave the poor girl alone before she realized what she was getting into. After all, it had been two weeks since he kissed her. Two very agonizing weeks of digging his nails into his face as he tried to literally cover up the thoughts he had of her every night.

Sexual thoughts were simple and common enough to handle. He'd been in the position before where he was physically aching for the touch of a woman. Emma had a fantastic body and she was gorgeous so imagining him gripping that long, blonde hair as he thrust into her was not so much a big surprise. The part that really got to him was how he kept thinking about just sitting with her. Watching movies, whatever. Just being there in the vicinity of her while she smiled in that really dazed way of hers and how she liked to fidget and cross and uncross her legs when curled on the couch next to him. The way she giggled and how it sounded different than when she full-on laughed until she couldn't breathe. He wanted to make her laugh with his dry, snarky remarks because she just got it, she got him.

Instead of getting to make her laugh and kiss her (if she even wanted to, again), he was stuck in pre-Wrestlemania mode. It was already March, after all. That meant almost every day was filled with grueling training and perfecting movesets. It was exhausting and all the usual exhilaration he would be feeling was killed by the fact that he never got to see her. Unless they were directly involved with his match against Wade Barrett, he didn't see anyone. He made only brief appearances at Raw and Smackdown, usually only cutting promos. The crowd wasn't too pleased, but it only made them more anxious to see him fight again in two weeks come Wrestlemania 32.

Lost in his thoughts, he traced his thumb over the phone screen. He really was chicken shit. He didn't want to call her, because it seemed like a stupidly informal way of meeting up with her again. To his regret, he found Paige's phone number instead. She had Seth program it in his phone in case of an emergency – whatever that meant. Dialing it, he listened as the other line rang a couple of times.

"Hello?" came the deep British accent.

He cleared his throat. "What's Emma's room number?"

The normally stoic, tough voice softened. It was the same tone she'd used with him before, when she was plotting with Seth to overwhelm him. "Dean? It's...let me see here...looks like 342. Third floor. She should be there. She left a little earlier than me and I just got to the hotel."

"Alright." He was going to hang up until he heard her speak again.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"She's my best friend." The tone was one of warning. "Don't hurt her."

He hung up, rolling his eyes. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Though he couldn't completely blame her. Just look at his track record. Women for miles all the way back to when he was barely old enough to be a professional in this career.

He grabbed his hotel key and cell phone, stopping onto to briefly look up at the ceiling. She was just a floor above him. He couldn't believe he was fucking nervous about this whole thing. He exited the room, brushing past a few hotel patrons and a group of wrestlers, before heading up the staircase. 342 was down the hallway and it felt like forever getting there. Near the end, he finally stopped at her door. He'd done this a ton of times in a ton of hotels, all with the same girl in the room. When could he have ever said that before? He was going to call instead of knock like he usually did, but it wasn't late at night and hearing her voice again before seeing her was just less appealing. His arm felt heavy when he lifted it to knock on the door twice.

He heard footsteps before it was unlocked and opened and an older woman dressed in hotel staff clothing gave him an odd look. The sheer size and intimidation of him nearly startled her. She turned into the room, calling out, "Miss, you have a visitor. I left the towels on the table."

"Thank you! Let them in." The Australian accent came from the bathroom and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

The maid brushed past him and he closed the door behind him, waiting until she finished whatever she was doing. It looked like she was unpacking all her stuff, but he couldn't see anything except her profile. She glanced in the mirror, running a hand through her hair, before turning off the light and exiting the bathroom. She stopped suddenly, mouth opened as she stopped her greeting. Probably expected Paige or Sami Zayn or whatever. Whoever it was, it wasn't him. He was sitting at the edge of her bed, hands laced between his knees.

She played with the ends of her hair as she continued staring at him. He felt strange under her gaze and really wanted her to stop. He was about to tell her so when she broke the silence. "Dean, hey."

"Hey." he could only say back. Off to a pretty lame start.

She was wearing one of those floral dresses she really liked, her heels already tossed underneath the table that the maid had left the towels on. She took a few cautious steps towards him, smiling prettily. There was a nervous buzz in the air, but he forced himself to act calm and collected. She still hadn't said anything else when she was standing in front of him.

He frowned. Maybe she was going to tell him that she didn't see him that way. That it was just a kiss, casual kisses happened all the time. Not kisses like that, he argued with himself. Never like that. He took a deep breath, holding out his hands. _Just say it already. Just break me into a million shards and let me get on with my life._

Instead, she took another step towards him, taking one of his hands. Stunned, he couldn't do anything except hold her hand in both of his, staring down at them as his fingers intertwined. Finally, he glanced up to see her smiling brightly. She looked shy and relieved and nervous, just like he did. He couldn't help the grin on his face as he looked up at her. The smile on her face melted, replaced by something else. Lips parted, she ran her free hand across his shoulder, up to the side of his neck.

He unlaced his fingers and, as delicately as he possibly could, ran his hands slowly up her arms. Feet planted firmly on the ground, he stood up suddenly. Their bodies were now pressed up against each other. With the height difference, her hands were now on his chest. His hands continued their trek to the sides of her shoulders and he heard her breath hitch. It was so intimate, so fucking intimate. Chaos was churning beneath his skin, coursing through his veins. He felt every beat of her heart through her chest, pressed up against him so that he could feel every curve beneath the flowery fabric. All of his senses were on overdrive and the need was too great for any doubt, any insecurities, to stop him from kissing her again. So he did.

She melted against him immediately, muscles relaxing as he took control. His arms circled her waist, pulling her against him fully. He took his chance when she gasped, deepening the kiss with his tongue. She had one of her arms around his neck as her other hand was buried in the hair on the back of his head. They broke the kiss to breathe and god fucking damnit he wasn't going to allow that to stop what was happening. Not like last time. Tonight it was just them, no flights to catch or feelings to run from. He kissed her quickly on the lips again as she took a deep breath, blue eyes wide from the shock of it all. They were still entangled together, neither daring to let go. Her voice was shaky, like she was afraid speaking would cause him to bolt out the door. "I missed you."

He missed her too. He really did. Casual, curt conversations via text for a few hours a day weren't enough. They never brought up the kiss or anything related to it. Both had matches in Wrestlemania and their personal lives would suffer for it. But they were here now, together and alone after two weeks of indecision and sheer will power. He couldn't tell her how much he missed her, so he pressed his mouth to hers again and hoped that would be enough. She was great at body language.

She had taught him so much. And he wanted to show her his gratitude. Not because he owed her. He had a very long list of debts that he never intended on repaying. It was how he did things. But he wanted to make her happy. Just this once he wanted something positive to be his fault. He broke away from her, slowly. The back of his legs hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, one hand out in invitation.

She immediately took it and he led her towards him, onto his lap. Her dress hiked up her thighs slightly and what was once covered in floral fabric was replaced by his hands as she took his face in her hands and kissed him. She let out a shuddering breath, her forehead pressed against his, when his fingers played with the edge of her dress. Her hands left his face as she reached behind her back to slowly unzip her dress. She leaned back to do so and he took the opportunity to take off his shirt, discarding it to the floor. With it all the way unzipped, she backed away from him and stood up. She looked nervous under his gaze, so she kept her eyes to the floor as she pulled her arms out of the dress, letting it slide down her hips until it hit the floor at her feet.

Slowly, her eyes met his and he knew she saw hunger there. It was returned, with a passion, as she approached him slowly. She took a seat next to him, sneaking glances of his toned chest. The bra and panties she wore were showing only slightly more skin than her ring gear, but his mouth was watering at the pure intimacy of it nonetheless. She smiled when she noticed how his eyes raked over her and leaned back onto her elbows. It was an invitation and he took it. Leaning over her, he kissed her again, the angle allowing him to explore her more with his fingers.

He was practically worshiping her, the way his hands ran all over her, everywhere except where he really wanted to touch because he was still unsure, so unsure, if she really wanted this, wanted him. Despite how feverish he was making her, his insecurities still bled through his armor. Her hand ran across his back, over the smooth muscles and the occasional scar. He breathed in through his nose when she ran her fingers lightly down his spine, to the waistband of his pants.

Simultaneously, he kissed down her neck. He finally allowed himself to give in to touching her neck, then her chest, then to where the swell of her breasts began. She nodded before he could ask her if she was sure and he took that as a solid yes. When his hand cupped her breast, she moaned for the first time. Oh, it was a really fucking sweet sound. He wanted to hear that sound again more than anything else. Turning over, he pulled himself up to a sitting position against the wall and opened his arms to her. She was laying on her stomach, peering up at him. It gave him a great view of her backside. The lacy underwear hid barely anything and he swore up and down he was going to go insane before she finally flashed him a grin, crawling up to straddle his lap.

He groaned, feeling her weight on his crotch. Her breath was hot on his neck as he ran his hands down her sides. "Dean, Dean, Dean..." she mused, whispering in his ear. Jesus Christ, woman. She knew what she was doing. He figured this was the breaking point and waited until she faced him again to continue. He gave her a hard look, one that told her that this was the time to back out and leave the situation clean. She only tilted her head in response to his look, grinning slightly. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" He knew, but he felt like pushing it.

"Like I'm going to leave at any moment." She leaned forward, confidently capturing his lips again. "I'm staying." She whispered against his lips and he tightened his grip on her hips in response. His heart was racing and his head was spinning, but he found beneath all that he was actually pretty happy.

She gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder, the strands long enough to reach her ribs by this point. She placed her hands on his arms and led his hands to her back, above the clasp of her bra. He knew what she wanted. He wanted it too. But he was still unsure until she nodded, kissing him as his fingers worked the clasp, unhooking it. The straps on her shoulders went slack and ran down her arms slowly, so slowly, as he continued kissing her. He didn't pay attention to when she discarded it to the floor because the kiss was so passionate that his mind wasn't able to function outside of Emma. His arms tightened and she was once again pressed against him.

Both naked from the waist up, she felt so soft and warm against him. She was smiling again, like he had actually given her something and he couldn't resist his curiosity. "You're grinning like a mad man." It's not the sexiest thing he'd ever said in bed with a woman.

She only bit her lip, holding back a laugh. "Hmm, I'm grinning because I like a mad man."

He raised his eyebrows. "Ah, good one." And that breaks the damn, her giggles causing her chest to press tighter against him and with one shift of her hips, things were heated up again. He leaned forward, kissing her neck again as her giggles melted into soft moans and gasps. His hands were still tracing her hips when she leaned back a little, allowing him to kiss lower. The angle only allowed so much and he nudged her to move back. She smiled, obliging, her breasts mostly hidden beneath her hair as it moved back over both shoulders.

Shyly, she gathered it again, pulling it behind her back and allowing him to actually look at her. He moved lower on the bed, hovering over her as she lay back. She was looking up at him in anticipation and he was looking back at her in awe. If he were to be honest, he wanted things to speed up a little. But he figured he was getting older and needed to start appreciating moments like this in life. He wasn't sure how many others he would actually have.

His lips met her neck once more and she let out a shaky, yet pleased sigh when he moved lower to her collarbone. Her head was turned, eyes closed in pleasure. His hands were trembling slightly, but he hoped she didn't notice. He was not a coward, he could do this. He'd done this plenty before. Just...never with her. He pushed the thoughts away as he kissed down her chest, over the top of her breast, kissing one while kneading the other with his hand. She bit her lip when he kissed her nipple, swirling the sensitive flesh with his tongue. Her hands gripped the sheets next to her and he saw that as a clear sign to continue.

But his mission wasn't over. As long as she was allowing it, he went lower. His fingers lightly traced down her sides, causing her to squirm a little, until they were playing with the hem of her panties. He kissed down her toned stomach, avoiding the glittering jewelry in her belly button. He had little experience with those and wasn't sure how sensitive they were. She took his opportunity to lean up on her elbows, peering down at him in curiosity. He met her gaze and couldn't resist quickly leaning up to kiss her again. She was grinning into the kiss, but her whole face was red from nervousness.

"Relax." he whispered, finding it pretty endearing.

"Sorry, it's just...you're Dean Ambrose. Dean Ambrose is actually...wow..."

He frowned at her, unsure where she was going with this. "What do you mean?"

"You're amazing. You're this fantastic human being and I feel like I'm going to wake up and-" he silenced her with another deep kiss. Her words were starting to make him feel strange inside and he wasn't sure he could deal with such overwhelming feelings during this. And he wanted to finish this. He had to finish this.

When she was silent and blushing again, he moved back to her stomach. Running his hand up her thigh, he used the other to tug lightly on the hem of her panties as he kissed lower. He heard her whimper, but her gaze was filled with lust. She was still leaning on her elbows as she watched him.

One of her hand reached down and ran through his hair, pushing back his curled fringe. Her lips were parted slightly as she breathed deeply. He pulled her underwear lower and she lifted her hips slightly so that he could tug them off fully.

When he tossed them to the floor, she shyly looked up at the ceiling, obviously resisting the urge to close her legs. He smirked, using his hands to keep her legs open, his thumbs tracing over the strong muscles of her thighs. He kissed up one of her thighs, looking up at her every once in a while and only seeing a very wanting woman looking back at him. When he finally reached her lower lips, he waited for an impatient nod before kissing her directly down there.

She jumped, letting out a squeak that almost caused him to laugh. His tongue ran down, between her folds, as she let out another moan, whimpering his name. He tried not to let that alone throw him off the edge but god damn it sounded so wonderful coming from her like that. His hand left her thigh and slowly, he pushed one finger into her. She was already wet enough for him to get one long digit all the way inside her. She panted, leaning back to stare at the ceiling, her hand in his hair as he continued to lick her, his finger pumping slowly.

"Faster..." she groaned and he pretended not to hear her.

"Hmm?" The vibrations from his voice caused her to whimper again.

"Faster, Dean..." and how could he resist that? He pumped faster, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with his free hand. He could feel himself practically ripping out of them.

Grasping his cock, he sucked on her clit as he pushed another finger inside her. He pumped himself in rhythm while fingering her and he could feel her starting to unravel. She let out a cry, lifting her hips slightly. He quickly wiped his mouth with his hand as he moved back up over her. The position allowed him to go deeper and she opened her eyes, looking up at him in desperation as he went faster. He wasn't sure if she was into post-oral kissing, so he waited until she gripped the back of his neck and pulled him in to kiss him. She dominated his mouth with her tongue. Her cries were muffled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, her nails running lightly across his back.

She broke the kiss and, with a loud, gasping moan, he felt her tighten around his fingers. She buried her face in his neck as she rode out her orgasm, whimpering his name over and over.

"Hey," he said after a bit, starting to get a little worried.

She let go of him and relaxed into the bed. "Hey..." she said with a dazed smile.

He didn't bother to hide the smile he gave her in return. "You alright?"

She wiped her forehead, eyes fluttering closed. "Mhm...hey...but you..."

"Don't worry about me." He softly brushed her hair out of her face and rolled off her, tucking himself back into his pants.

She let out a deep breath, eyes still closed. Her head rolled to the side. That must have really done it for her, because she was dead asleep within the minute. He grinned at her, getting off the bed and heading to the bathroom. That way it would be quieter. Once he had the door closed, he unzipped his pants and leaned on the counter with one hand as he pumped his throbbing cock with the other. It took a bit because he was trying to keep silent, but he finally came with a groan. Hunched over the counter, he opened his eyes to look at his reflection.

He was panting and sweating, his curly fringe sticking to his face. He would never, ever tell her, but this was probably the first time he had ever been selfless in bed. He couldn't remember the last time he put his own satisfaction after someone else's. In fact, more often than not, he didn't care if they were even satisfied. But Emma...pretty, strange Emma...he wanted nothing more than to hear her whimpering his name over and over again. He never wanted another name on her lips, ever again. That's when he knew.

He looked in his reflection and saw a frowning, sweating man. A man reluctant to let any of this get to him, and his walls were breaking down. He almost looked sad, really. Like he pitied himself. He had never really allowed self-pity to fill him, but he was feeling it now. But that wasn't necessarily the case. He saw a pitiful, sad man, but somehow he felt rather happy inside. He saw a man who was completely, stupidly, dreadfully in love with someone.

Sighing, he would pretend for now that he didn't just admit that to himself. He washed his hands and cleaned himself up before slowly opening the door.

His attempts to be silent were trashed when she stirred under the brightness of the light. She nearly jolted awake, the sheets he had tossed over her covering her front. She gripped them closer as she looked around, confused. He didn't know what to say, so he just stood there. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light and turned over to turn on the bedside lamp. "Dean?"

"I'm here." He said, trying to be casual as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Her eyes traced his shirtless frame and a blush crept up her skin as she realized what had happened just earlier. She cleared her throat, sitting up. He grabbed one of the towels from the table, quietly handing it to her. She smiled in return, the brightness returning to her, which relieved him. She didn't seem to regret it.

She wrapped the towel around her as she shakily stood from the bed and headed to her suitcase. She grabbed the first clothing she could find and, with a quick glance at him, dropped the towel. He pretended he wasn't looking, but they both knew he was. She pulled a teeshirt and some cotton underwear on, sighing happily as she turned to him. Maybe she was just one of those people who adapted well, but he was genuinely surprised when she approached him and placed a kiss on his lips.

Before he could wrap his arms around her to pull her closer, she headed to the couch and grabbed her laptop. "I've got to do some more research on Alicia Fox. You're more than welcome to stay." He grinned, plopping down on the couch next to her. He took the opportunity to unlace his boots and toss them to the side. She gave him an amused look as she turned on her laptop. They stayed like that for a while, just looking at the screen with some space in between them. She almost missed his statement from watching Alicia Fox's movesets and freakouts with such focus. "Hmm?"

"I said I've never seen you so focused on beating someone."

Emma smirked. "I've spent over a year trying to fully assess her. She's really been raging against me and I think if I beat her at Wrestlemania the particular way I'm thinking, it will help her learn to see that the problem is her, not her opponents."

He wasn't one to hide his thoughts, so he went ahead and told her. "It sounds like you're trying to...you know...fix her."

"Fix is a strong word, I'm helping her." Her blue eyes never left the screen. Dean was starting to clearly see the obsession. She did look more tired than usual. He wondered how many nights she spent researching instead of sleeping. All to psychologically break down someone who clearly didn't want her help.

He was beginning to get a little worried.

"Hey..." he said, gently taking her hand. It was weirdly intimate, and he felt uncomfortable as hell, but it distracted her. She looked at him immediately. "are you sure you really want to do this with her? I'm not going to try to talk you out of it, it's your call. I just...you know if someone tried to force help on me when I was in that bad of a state it would only make things worse. Maybe you should just leave it..."

She frowned at him. His words had clearly stung her, but she was defiant. Her frown turned into a soft smile. "I know what I'm doing, Dean. Now...do you need any help in your match?"

"Wade?" he shook his head. "Yeah, no. I can beat that guy with my fists alone. He just likes to pretend he can piss me off by laughing in my face. He's not really a multidimensional character."

Emma smiled, placing the laptop on the coffee table in front of them. She turned to him, closing the space by bringing him into a kiss. It was forward, but he wasn't complaining. "If you're sure."

"Sweetheart, when have I been unsure about a fight?" He smirked.

She laughed, playfully punching him in the shoulder. "You've got me there."

"Mhm..." he circled her waist with his arms. "Yeah, I've got you."

**Wow this chapter was very nerve-wracking to write. Hope you all enjoy it! The next chapter will (most likely) be the last chapter of this story. Thanks to everyone who reviewed and please keep up the great track record, it fills me with glee.**


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own nothing. This is the two-part finale.

He had always been prepared for this career. Moving from home to home within months as a child made settling down hard as an adult. That was alright with him, truly. He only had a permanent home in Las Vegas because paying for hotel rooms out of your own pocket really added up quickly and the WWE wasn't going to keep him on board for three days just because he couldn't man up and buy a place.

What actually did surprise and somewhat bother him was how fast time flew by. He still felt like a rookie in the profession despite his main roster debut having occurred almost four years ago. He was past thirty, yet twenty-six felt like yesterday. It was a very strange feeling and it wouldn't have even been brought up in his mind, had he not realized that five months have passed by since he started talking to Emma. Five months of bullshit fights and a feud that was still being pushed on him till this day. Dean Ambrose knew his value and his pull in the company, and he knew that Triple H would never fire him for refusing to fight Naveen.

He wondered if maybe he should turn heel post-Wrestlemania. That way a match with Naveen wouldn't make sense to the audience. But being the bad guy really wasn't in his to-do list anymore. He had nearly a decade of fighting as a bad guy under his belt and frankly, he was tired. Plus, despite his attempts at reuniting the Shield, the audience still saw Seth Rollins as a bad guy, and Dean would never completely let that feud rest.

Broken from his thoughts, he realized Roman had been talking to him. He looked up to see the other man glaring at him in exasperation. "Come on, man. What's the use of you if you aren't going to spot me?"

"Hey, stuff it. You're lucky my trainer even let me go for five fucking minutes to work out with you."

"We're both lucky we even get to eat." Roman dropped the weights he was carrying, grabbing a water bottle. "I can't wait for Wrestlemania season to be over."

"Yeah," Dean rolled his shoulders, sore and done for the day, "And then we have Raw and the next Pay-Per-View..."

Roman groaned. "I just want to see my little girl, man. Go home with my wife and kid and just relax, you feel me?" Dean gave him a look that clearly said no and he barked out a laugh. "Right, sorry. Hey, speaking of...are you ever going to spill it about you and her?"

Dean knew he was being pretty nice, as he could have just came out and said it, but they were in a busy gym and it was hard enough to get any privacy. "No, probably not."

Roman shrugged, smiling like he knew something. Which, he didn't. Dean hadn't told anybody and he didn't think Emma told anyone, either. Maybe Paige. He cringed inwardly. It's not like he gave a fuck...he just...kind of gave a fuck. He ran his fingers through his hair and shook off the water he poured onto his face once they were outside.

Roman threw a towel at him and he grabbed it thankfully. Phoenix was always hot as hell whenever they visited. He pulled out his phone, expecting to see nothing. He was wrong. He didn't realize that his phone had been on silent all day. Turning it up, he opened the message he received as he and Roman walked back to the hotel. Roman looked at him curiously, not used to seeing Dean so interested in a text message. He gave a knowing smirk that Dean shot an ugly glare right back at.

"Hey, I'm going to grab some stuff at this store back by the gym. I'll meet you later." He ignored Dean's strange look as he laughed and called out behind him. "Go get your girl, man."

Ugh. Dean turned back. The message was short, just a few sentences. _When you're free, do you mind meeting me at my room? I have a question to ask you. Need a second opinion. _It was followed by a room number and floor level. As if he hadn't already made sure he knew her room number.

In all reality, they hadn't seen much of each other since that time together. Like before, they were still in Wrestlemania mode and their trainers took up a huge chunk of their time. On top of that, Emma filmed for NXT for a couple of days. They kept them so busy that the only time they ever communicated was one short conversation via text a day. And it almost always consisted of wrestling-related things. Business as usual.

Maybe it was for the best that they didn't talk about it. Dean knew the idea of trying not to see her again was out the window the very second he admitted to himself that he was crazy about this girl. _Woman._ After that night together, he had no business dismissing her as just a girl. He upheld the appearance of a cranky, soaking wet wrestler up until he got to her floor and nobody was around to see.

He was sure with her schedule she would be done with her question and then they would be apart again. In all honesty, his trainer could call him ten thousand times and he would probably blow him off to just hang out with her. He briefly considered just breaking his phone when she opened the door.

She looked absolutely exhausted but no less stunning than before. He noticed a couple of bruises on her tanned legs that would be hidden beneath skin-colored tights on Sunday. She ran a hand through her long hair, pushing it back out of her face, giving him a look that said she wasn't interested in talking about work. Nonetheless, she immediately sat with him on her couch and began asking him about footwork. She had noticed certain steps Alicia Fox would take before certain moves and Dean wanted to tell her that she was thinking too much into it, but he didn't want to slow her roll.

She scribbled on her notebook in that pretty cursive handwriting, covering the lined page with drawings of boxes and stick figures. Dean scratched the back of his head. She was talking rapidly and he was too distracted by her pink lips and that pretty accent. He sighed, causing her to stop and look at him expectantly.

"You're...you're going to have to slow down."

She set the notebook down. "I can't! I only have five days, including this one, to figure out a fool-proof plan to beat her."

Dean paused for a moment, watching with interest as she glared at the notebook in frustration. "Can I be honest with you?"

She nodded immediately. "Of course. Always."

He gave her an apologetic look, because, really he didn't like crushing her feelings like this. "You're relying too hard on the facts and not yourself. And I think...you're taking this too far." She was about to protest when he interrupted. "I know, I know I'm definitely not one to talk about taking things too far. But what I had against Seth was personal. That was a personal vendetta."

She clearly wanted to argue, but they both knew he was right. "You think I'm becoming obsessive. And that's okay, because I am." To his surprise, she took his hands, resting her elbows on the notebook in her lap. "Nothing is going to stop me from pursuing this. I really think I can do this. I can make a difference for her."

He frowned. This was not the Emma he had come to know. Just a few months ago she laughed off the idea of "fixing" people. He felt for her, in more ways than one. And he wanted to keep arguing, but when she looked at him sadly with those big blue eyes there was no way he could crush her spirits anymore. He would have to let her learn her lesson on her own, just like he did.

"Okay." He did his best not to jump when she pulled herself into his arms, her notebook forgotten. "Okay, Emma."

"I'm sorry." She suddenly giggled. "This is really cheesy of me, I just needed a hug from a friend."

He felt suddenly very conflicted. On one hand, _this_ was the Emma he knew and she was here, in his arms, considering him her friend. On the other hand, she considered him her _friend_. There was a lot unsaid in that word. He was all about being her friend sure, but, maybe she was trying to tell him that that's all they really were in the end. Such a situation normally would have been no problem, whatever, everybody wins. But...not this time. Not when he actually had feelings for her. Stupid fucking feelings. Just the idea of them being friends until some dude with morals and a clear history comes along filled him with anger and something else.

His arms tightened around her waist and she must have noticed how quiet he'd gotten, because she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "You alright?" He wasn't going to answer that, mostly because he really wasn't alright. But there was no way he could tell her, absolutely no fucking way and maybe that would be his downfall. Maybe in the end he wouldn't get the girl but that's how the story ends for the lunatic scumbag. When he finally looked up to see her concerned face, he really couldn't be mad anymore. He wasn't sure he could ever actually be mad at her. Even acting like it was failing miserably as she ran her thumb across his collarbone.

He felt his heart rate increase the second she kissed him because he wasn't expecting it. This might not have been the reason for him coming over but he wasn't complaining because she tasted like mint and lemon and the shorts she was wearing were riding up her thighs in that way he really liked and she was taking control with her tongue as her hands ran down his arms. He felt his whole body relax when he heard her pleased sigh as they broke apart. She smiled brightly at him. "Two whole weeks."

"Two weeks of shitty conversations, you mean?" And he was being honest but it still made her laugh. He grinned at her when she playfully slapped his shoulder.

"I'm much better at face-to-face interactions. I never had a cell phone as a teenager and spent practically all my free time wrestling so I'm complete rubbish at texting."

"Makes two of us." He leaned back as she adjusted her position on his lap. She accidentally kneed him in the stomach in the process and his grunt caused her to burst into a fit of giggles.

"Sorry!"

"You're so clumsy, Em."

She pulled her hair over one shoulder, beaming. "It makes my day more interesting."

He decided in that moment to press his lips against her shoulder, mumbling against the tanned skin. "I'm sure it does." He was testing the waters, because the way her hips were grinding on him as she moved around was driving him a little more than crazy.

She pulled him into another kiss with a hungry look and he let her take control again. He had thought over that night a great many times. He had especially liked the way she clung to him and he wondered if she would be practically inseparable from him were he to ever actually be inside her.

He wasn't paying attention until he noticed her slightly move back and off his lap. She gave him a shy smile, her hands dragging down the fabric of his shirt to just above the waistband of his pants. Fuck what Paige said, he was great at picking up signals. He leaned forward, face inches from hers, as he unbuttoned his pants. Her face flushed red and he couldn't help his grin. He didn't mind making her blush like that. As he wondered how else he could make her blush, she leaned forward and captured his mouth again, mumbling against his lips, "Take your shirt off."

She was being very dominant and he definitely enjoyed it. Hey, sometimes he liked not being the one in control. It was a rare occasion, but so was undressing with Emma so it wasn't negative by any means. He broke the kiss and pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the ground. She ran her hands down his stomach, to the opened waistband of his pants. Without warning, she grasped him firmly in her hand and he almost jumped. Groaning, he gripped the chair of the couch and, as he watched her slide down a little, he was keenly aware of her intentions.

Not that he was unwilling for her to do that to him, if anything he was more than willing, but he was impatient as all hell and he wanted her. It was time to see how much of this game she was willing to play. "Hey..." he said and she met his gaze, blinking up at him through long eyelashes. He had to clear his throat to speak again. "c'mere."

With his support, she climbed back onto him and he shifted position, bracing himself. She squeaked when he suddenly stood up with her full weight in his arms. "Dean, you could hurt yourself supporting me like that. It can't be good for your back."

He laughed off her worried fretting, surprised that she could do so without necessarily ruining the mood. "Blondie, I've carried dogs that weigh more than you."

"Hey you're blonde, too." She grinned, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck until she was face-to-face with him. With the proximity, she felt the his intense gaze on her and her grinning faded into a very wanton stare. Her arms loosened on him and he took the opportunity to drop her on to the bed, causing her to squeak again. He remained standing, not wanting to be too overbearing, until she smirked and pulled him down on top of her. He caught himself, not wanting to crush her, and she rolled her eyes, still smiling. "You're not going to crush me."

"I'm a pretty big guy." He muttered, distracted by the strap of her tank top that had fallen off her shoulder. She was going to continue the banter until he started kissing the valley between her neck and collarbone. It had quieted her, but he felt the pressure of her fingers on his back.

"I bet you are." she mumbled and before he could ask her to repeat that, she was sitting up, yanking her tank top over her head. "Take them off." Her eyes darted down to her shorts and he leaned forward their face close enough to feel each others' warmth.

He gave her a wicked smirk. "With pleasure."

He kissed down her neck as he unbuttoned her shorts, sliding them down her legs as he kissed lower. His lips met the swell of her breasts as he began to work on the cotton underwear, pulling them down her hips. As she kicked them off her feet, he pulled himself back up to work on the clasp of her bra. As he did so, she pulled him into another kiss, biting his lip lightly. Such an action caused him to let out a low growl and she giggled innocently. Yeah, this one was definitely clever.

Running her fingers through his hair, he finally unclasped her bra (probably breaking it in the process – he would check later) and tossed it somewhere onto the floor. She blinked up at him, quiet now as a flush spread over her face. He was looking back down at her, shaking his head in confusion. "What?"

"It's just..." she whispered shyly, "I'm completely naked right now and you've still got your shoes on."

He grinned, kicking his boots off. They thudded loudly onto the floor. "There. Better?"

"Hmm...I'll accept it." Her feigned reluctance was strangely adorable. But that was a really stupid thing to say, so he would just think it and deny to the devil himself that such a thought even crossed his mind. She was playing with a strand of his curly locks, focused on the blonde hair. It made him feel a little strange inside and he decided that he didn't want to deal with that right now. He would focus on this instead.

He watched her react as his hand ran down her body, stopping only briefly at her breasts, choosing instead to head lower. As his fingers grazed her toned stomach, she bit her lip, gasping when one long digit entered her. He took some pride in the fact that she was already incredibly wet and ready for him. He kissed her shoulder again as he entered a second finger and she immediately gasped, gripping the bed sheet. Before he could reposition himself to properly pleasure her, she sat up a little. "Dean..." she gasped out, trying to remain in control.

He moved his fingers a little, causing her to moan. What could he say? He liked power play. "Hmm?"

"I uh..." she was struggling for words as he pumped his fingers in her once again. She leaned forward and kissed him briefly. "I want to..."

"Gotta be more clear than that, Em." he feigned ignorance, his voice husky. His pants were still unbuttoned, but the strain of his erection against the fabric was almost painful. Seeing her in such a state with the sole reason being him was not helping.

"Dean please..." she whimpered. He grinned at her look of frustration and figured he would let up on this one. Besides, he was getting impatient himself. He took a brief moment to give her a look-over. Every signal from her body and words was screaming "fuck me" and he figured they were close enough friends that she was honest with him. He ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair and pulled her into a deep kiss, her tongue like heaven on his. She was moaning with each movement and gasped out when he slipped his fingers out of her.

He stood up and grabbed his wallet, tossed on the floor along with his boots. He pulled out a foil square and set it and his wallet on the bedside table. She watched him, now in a sitting position with her legs hanging off the bed. She didn't look the least bit uncomfortable, maybe a bit frustrated with how slow he was being. And normally he was a pretty fast-paced guy, but he figured this might be the only time this ever happens and he would need some good memory material for later when she was with some perfect guy and they stopped talking altogether.

Distracted, he was surprised when she gripped the waistband of his pants, pulling him close to her. He was still standing, so she was face-to-face with his zipper, completely undone. He ran his fingers through his hair, staring down at her. She looked incredible from his angle and he cursed such wishful thinking, but he needed to break that final wall down with her before he could even think about her lips wrapped around his cock.

He helped her remove his pants, stepping out of them. Now clad in only black briefs, a mischievous smile spread on her face, indicating a plan that was spoiled as soon as he gently pushed her back onto the bed. Leaning over her, he whispered in her ear, "I'm in control here, princess." She slyly snuck her hand between them, suddenly gripping his cock through his briefs. He groaned against her neck and she let out a pleased sigh.

He lifted his head to look at her and she was smiling back at him. "I'm insisting that you speed it up a little."

He raised his eyebrows. "What, you're not a slow-fuck type of gal?" He expected her to blush, maybe gasp at his lewdness, but she immediately gripped his cock again, this time with her hand slipped under his briefs.

"Definitely not."

He smirked as she bit his lower lip again and he gripped her hip with one hand while grabbing the condom from the bedside table with the other. Her deft fingers swiftly helped pull his briefs off and he rolled the condom on before she could take a good look at him. There would be plenty of time for looking later, he just wanted to touch and feel. He was now hovering right above her, his elbows and forearms supporting his weight, with his lower half in between her legs. She was panting with want and he gave her a quick kiss. He moved his hips forward, slowly sliding into her until he was all the way in. He never needed to guide himself or wait for her to adjust to him, because they fit together so easily like that. He never would have thought so in a million years if you asked him six months ago, but he knew now that they blended so perfectly together.

He brushed a stray strand of hair off her face as she let out a shuddering whimper. He pulled out nearly all the way, causing her to gasp. When he pushed back all the way in, she actually cried out. He kissed her passionately, gripping the bedsheets before she took one of his hands in hers, her other one running across his back.

Bracing himself, he gripped her hips and she wrapped her strong legs around him tightly as he thrusted into her over and over. Her shallow gasps turned into moans as she went from desperately grasping for him to gripping the pillow beneath her head. She had her eyes shut tightly, but his were wide open. He watched her with such an intensity as a vast array of emotions crossed her face.

"Dean!" she cried out and he felt himself starting to lose control. Panting, he leaned down and kissed her neck, sucking on the soft skin as she whimpered and bucked her hips to meet his. As soon as she did that, he was a goner. He roughly gripped her hips and kissed her passionately while positioning himself better.

He broke the kiss, growling into her ear. "Get ready."

Before she could question him, he tripled his speed, thrusting into her quickly, not pulling out until he was all the way inside her. She ran her nails down his back, leaving marks, but no pain, only pleasure. He felt like his entire body was on fire but he was addicted to the burning sensation from his lips to his fingers and he just wanted to feel every inch of her. She was gasping, trying desperately to keep calm, but ultimately failed. She blinked open those pretty blue eyes once again, looking straight into his. "Harder..."

He looked a little unsure, but it might have been from the way her eyes never left his as he thrusted into her with more force. "You like that?"

She nodded, lifting her hips to better meet his. After a little while, he was holding himself back, keeping up the pace until her eyes suddenly went wide. "Dean I'm gonna..." and he knew from before how intense she got, so he calmly leaned forward and she immediately wrapped her arms around his neck. With a few final thrusts she pressed her face into the crook of his neck and cried out, stifling her screams of pleasure. The tightness he felt when she came was so intense that he couldn't hold back anymore and he let himself go with a groan.

She was still pressed tightly against him as she panted, catching her breath. He lifted his head and, once she let go, his body off her and threw out the condom. Tugging his briefs back on, he couldn't help the goofy-feeling grin that spread on his face when he saw her slowly sit up and shyly rub her eyes. She pulled the sheets down and curled up under them.

He had only meant to go say bye to her and that he would see her tomorrow. It's not that he wanted to leave, just figured he would leave her alone and give her her space. Things never really turned out like he planned. He stood at her bedside with her peering back up at him. He knelt down onto the floor and was about to open his mouth when he leaned over and kissed him. She wrapped her arms around him and he followed her lead back on to the bed. With a bit of adjusting, he was laying next to her, not sure what to do or say. He simply and quietly followed her actions.

"Hey Dean?" she turned over towards him. "Thank you." He wasn't sure how he felt about her thanking him for sex. He shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "For being you, I mean." She giggled, realizing the cause of his reaction.

He grinned. Maybe she just wanted to be friends. Maybe this was some casual thing and she was stressed and they both needed to relax. He'd been in that situation before. Though those were less gut-wrenching than this. He watched her as she placed her hand on his face, messing with his hair. The silence was comfortable.

So maybe she didn't love him. He wouldn't go so far as to say he was okay with that, but he was starting down the path to simply accepting that. He listened as she headlined the conversation, discussing work and Wrestlemania, trying his best to not be so obvious that he was watching her with admiration.

Wrestlemania was hell. Well, it was always hell. But it seemed like every match was top tier, with the price of absolutely wrecking the wrestlers involved. Anything for entertainment. He was changing into his ring gear, a simple black uniform he had taken up once they finally pushed him out of doing the whole "dirty mechanic" thing, as Stephanie McMahon called it. He closed his locker, heading out a bit early so that he could find a lone monitor to watch the matches before his, particularly Emma's.

He was by himself, but still pretended not to be interested as he watched the monitor. Emma and Alicia Fox had just started fighting. It started off pretty average, with Emma doing her usual goofy taunts that pissed off Alicia to no end. But then things got dark the second they broke apart after locking up. Emma had obviously said something that threw the other girl off the deep end because Alicia looked ready to rip her apart.

Emma's eyes were focused on Alicia's feet as she correctly predicted an oncoming clothesline, ducking beneath it. Alicia hit the ropes and Emma turned to her, frustration marked on her features. Dean knew that Emma would get very serious and angry as time went by in matches, but it was a rare occasion. Something was wrong with this match, but Dean couldn't pinpoint what. At one point, Alicia screamed in rage, throwing Emma clear off the apron. The blonde woman was sprawled out on the ground, clutching her shoulder in pain. She gripped the apron as she stood up, sweating and bruised from the fall. She pulled herself back into the ring before the ref counted her out and the two women locked up again. Pushing apart, Alicia suddenly threw herself onto Emma, pounding her mercilessly.

Emma shoved her off, crawling to the ropes to help pull herself up. Dean read the look on her face. She looked like her plan had fallen through. Dean frowned. He had a feeling this was coming, but it still didn't feel good to watch her learn her lesson in such a harsh manner. He started wrapping the tape on his hands, not paying much attention to it. He'd done it so much by now that he could do it perfectly without great focus. He bit the end of the tape, tearing it.

Emma stood in the corner as Alicia rounded the outside of the ring. Their stare down was so intense that the audience began to cheer loudly. Though you couldn't see clearly because of the camera angle, Emma looked like she was talking to Alicia, trying to logically reason with her or something. But that completely backfired, because Alicia Fox grew quiet, giving a death glare. She pulled up the apron, quickly grabbing a chair and throwing it into the ring. The ref attempted to stop her, but Alicia was on the war path. Dean held his breath, unsure if he was able to watch Emma get destroyed with a steel chair. Lucky for Emma, Alicia's first swing was hellish, but it missed. Just barely. The ref signaled the bell keeper and Alicia Fox was disqualified. But Emma didn't look victorious. She was gripping the ropes with one hand, her shoulder with the other.

The camera switched between Emma's look of pain and Alicia's tearful glare. She ignored the ref, yanking Emma to her feet by her good arm. They stood face-to-face, glaring into each others' eyes. Alicia said something to her when the camera was on Emma's face. The announcers prattled on, confused and unsure exactly what was going on. Alicia looked like she was ready to go at it again, but Emma raised her hands, looking into her eyes.

"I'm sorry." It was hard to hear, but it came through on the feed. "I'm sorry, Alicia."

Alicia's expression grew soft and she bit her lip. She was one hell of an emotional woman, which was a strong suit at times because it made her all the more of a tough opponent. She was breathing hard when she grabbed Emma into a hug. Emma looked completely thrown off, her arms hanging on her sides. Alicia pulled out of the hug with the same intensity that she started it and she stepped away from Emma, her arms raised as the ref continued to yell at her.

She crawled under the ropes and Emma watched, looking dazed. After a moment, she weakly left the ring and headed up the ramp as the announcer entered the ring to call the next match.

Dean immediately left, searching the hallways for the ring entrance. Unfortunately he was stopped multiple times along the way by interviewers and medics who wanted to make sure he was top-notch. By the time he staggered away from them, fifteen minutes had passed and Emma was nowhere to be found. She was probably with the medic, because that shoulder looked bad, but when he headed that direction he was stopped by the stage manager.

"You're up next, Ambrose." He tried to look past the man clad in black, but it was no use. Reluctantly, he headed for the stage entrance as Triple H came to the ring to announce something Dean hadn't planned for.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you were promised a fight between Wade Barrett and Dean Ambrose tonight..." he paused and the booing from the crowd was loud. For a moment, it was collectively thought that they would cancel his match. "...and you'll get that." The crowd erupted into cheers. "But after Mr. Ambrose's little walk out last month, we figured the WWE Universe was owed more than just a singles match from their golden boy." Dean was surprised to hear two sets of music come from the entrance: Randy Orton's and Naveen's. God fucking damnit. Of course Triple H wouldn't let him slide with just a suspension. He had to do this to him at Wrestlemania of all fucking places.

The announcer came up to Triple H's side. "The following contest has now been scheduled as a 3-on-1 handicap match scheduled for one fall. Introducing first from Preston, England, weighing in at 246 lbs, Wade Barrett. From St. Louis, Missouri, weighing in at 235 lbs, Randy Orton. And last from Naveen, and Mumbai, India, weighing in at 215 pounds, Naveen." His music hit and and he walked down the ramp, glaring right at Triple H. Had the stupid fucker not gone and got hurt he would attack him full-force. Screw the other three. Lucky for Hunter, he wasn't going to attack a cripple in front of 80,000 people. The erupt of the crowd was deafening. The announcer continued. "And their opponent, from Cincinatti, Ohio, weighing in at 225 lbs, Dean Ambrose."

He gave Triple H n ugly look as the older man passed by him, hobbling on that cane up the ramp with a smirk on his face. Dean turned to the ring, ducking beneath the rope and on to the mat. Frowning, he watched as Wade Barrett approached him, Randy and Naveen in the back. "So you're a monster heel now, Wade?"

"You're a good guesser, Ambrose." Wade smirked as shoved him the second the bell rang. Fuck Triple H. Seriously, fuck that big-nosed motherfucker. Because Dean was getting his ass handed to him by three people at the biggest event of the year.

Crawling to the turnbuckle, Dean panted, sweating bullets and shaking. His arms were sore and his back wasn't sure he could take another suplex. He groaned, pulling himself up by the ropes just as Randy grabbed him and pulled him back. No-DQ matches were absolute hell when you had three people wailing on you at once with steel chairs. Randy hit him hard and he fell back on to the floor. His ear rang from the assault and he shook his head. Just as he did so, the crowd began to roar. He turned to the source and saw nobody coming down the ramp. Turning, he was surprised to see Naveen suddenly thrown to the ground by none other than Seth Rollins. He jumped off the ropes onto Randy, causing the other man to drop his chair.

When he was on his feet, Seth approached Dean and pulled him up. "Rome says hi. He'd join the party but Lesnar gave his legs a good pummeling. Luckily Sami Zayn went a tidbit softer on me." He had a match earlier, so it was pretty mind blowing that he had enough energy to actually come out here.

Two against three evened the odds out a little bit. Dean managed to knock out Naveen, but Randy was still going full blast. Dean countered Randy's RKO and threw himself against Wade Barrett, throwing punches wildly. Seth curb stomped Randy, bouncing off the ropes to collide with Barrett, knocking him and Dean down. After Seth flipped off the ropes onto Wade's lying form, Dean threw him down with the Dirty Deeds. Wade was unable to get up when the ref counted to three as Dean pinned him. Dean pushed himself up with Seth's help and the ref raised his hand to the cheering crowd. Seth stood by him, panting and slapping him on the back.

There was a moment, when the ref left, that Dean got quiet and just stared at Seth with this strange look. Seth only smiled back. Maybe there was a time when Seth was an asshole who betrayed him for power. And despite his reasons, he still did it. There was no going back on them. But that's how it was with them. They were different people with different morals and goals and ideas of justice and right and wrong. Dean had to face his past, Emma made sure of that, and it showed him that people change. Besides, brothers always fought, but nothing could completely tear them apart.

That's when Dean decided to hold out his hand to Seth. And the roaring of the crowd meant nothing, it was drowned out. They were two men in a dark room. Seth gave him a surprised look, a frown on his face. Slowly, he took Dean's hand in his and shook it. When they let go, Dean backed up and ducked under the ropes. No music played, though it should have. No sound but the audience. Dean and Seth stumbled up that ramp together.

When they were backstage, they didn't say a word to each other. Dean was looking around and Seth was only looking at him, curious. Dean turned to Seth quickly, too high on pride in his match tonight to bother with the broody, mysterious angle. "I'm going to go find her."

Seth only smiled and laughed as his comrade dashed off in search for the blonde Australian. Dean took a quick turn, but was unable to avoid the camera crew that followed him. He wasn't sure if they were for Raw or Backstage Pass or what, but he was blatantly running away from them as he searched every room and corridor he could find.

Just as he gave up, he found her. Well, nearly collided with her, actually. She jumped back to avoid running into him. She was clutching her shoulder still, but looked in better shape than when she left the ring. She swallowed thickly. "You were right, Dean. I should have left her alone. You were right."

It could have been the adrenaline or the fact that he was crazy for her. But something really got to him when she said those words. Just as he was able to give credit where credit was due, she was, too. She was actually admitting her faults to him with those pretty eyes and that sheepish grin and he was so elated to see her there looking at him like a fucking human being. He deserved to be looked at like that and she knew it and did it of her own accord. She did it for him.

The tape on his hands was peeling off, but she wasn't bothered by it when he held her shoulders. He kept his grip light to avoid hurting her bad one. She looked into his eyes, then to the cameramen, then back again. He rolled his eyes, still grinning. Cameras be damned, Emma was looking at him like she loved him. Maybe she didn't and he was just holding on to some desperate hope, but she was really looking at him and he couldn't think of anything better to do after Wrestlemania than this.

He pulled her close and kissed her. He thought for a second that maybe he shouldn't kiss her when he was all gross after a match, but his mind was suddenly occupied when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. If her shoulder was still hurting, she was greatly ignoring it.

He broke the kiss and they grinned at each other. Dean turned to the camera, smirked, and put his hand over the lens. "This ain't a free show, folks." The cameramen backed off, turning to find Seth and interview him after the match, leaving Dean and Emma alone.

They were smiling at each other sheepishly and he was really bad at hiding it. He figured she had already seen him at his worst, there was nothing left to hide. And he liked that. He felt comfortable and just...happy around her. She grabbed his hand and led him down the hallway, searching for Paige. And he let her, ignoring the stares and weird looks. None of them mattered, all that mattered was Emma.

For the first time in his life, he was really glad that he was a stubborn asshole who didn't like to apologize.

**I want to thank everyone for the reviews and support I've received for this story. I really appreciated that everyone loved it and I hope to see support again soon when I write my next multi-chapter Demma. Until next time.**


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